


FitzSkimmons Drabbles & Ficlets Collection

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS Advent 2017, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, FitzSkimmons - Freeform, Fluff, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: A collection of drabbles & ficlets about the ot3 FitzSkimmons (Fitz x Skye/Daisy x Simmons). These will be a variety of ratings; for the most part G-T unless otherwise stated.-most recent chapter: "the other shoe" - angst/hurt/comfort when they get cryo Fitz back (important but vague 5x14 references)





	1. Intro

This is a collection of drabbles and ficlets featuring the OT3 FitzSkimmons. Some other fics/collections you may be interested in are:

-

  * [FitzSimmons Drabbles & Ficlets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5863714/chapters/13515487) \- for romantic FitzSimmons without romantic Daisy (although platonic Daisy might make some appearances. I also have plenty of FitzSimmons fic beyond this for those who are interested.


  * [Skimmons Drabbles & Ficlets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5864041/chapters/13516015) \- for romantic and platonic (& ambiguous) Skimmons/Bioquake without romantic Fitz (although platonic Fitz might make some appearances). I also have plenty of Skimmons/Bioquake fic beyond this for those who are interested.


  * [Team Playground Drabbles & Ficlets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7295626/chapters/16569091) \- for many platonic relationships in the team, especially the Bus Kids (Fitz & Skye/Daisy & Simmons). I also have plenty of platonic Bus Kids fic beyond this for those who are interested.



-

  * [The Compersion Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/CompersionCollection) \- where I keep all my FitzSkimmons stuff, from meetcutes to smut and a whole range of lengths.
  * [The Spice of Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11139615/chapters/24854529) \- shamelessly smutty FitzSkimmons



-

Enjoy!


	2. Sick!Fic Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay - my connection just got interrupted - but without further ado:
> 
> Prompt: "Daisy is on some really good pain meds, and is cooing at Jemma but attached to Fitz".  
> Fluff/crack. Rated G. Enjoy!

“Knock knock?”

Jemma stuck her nose through the door, and then pushed the rest of the way in. Fitz barely moved, simply turning his head a little to look at her. Daisy – who appeared to have mushed quite comfortably against Fitz – raised one floppy arm in celebration and declared;

“ _Jemmaaaaaa!”_

“What brings you to our humble corner?” Fitz wondered, his attention quickly taken by the rather large bowl of pasta Jemma had brought in. It was getting on the late side of lunch, and though his body was ostensibly comfortable, his stomach was starting to growl. Jemma smiled knowingly, and showed him the two forks she had brought as she came over to sit on the bed. Fitz and even Daisy reluctantly dragged themselves into a sitting position, hunger – and apparently, excitement at Jemma’s arrival - outweighing exhaustion.

“I just came to see how our hero is doing,” Jemma greeted, as Daisy beamed and poked her experimentally on the nose. “The painkiller makes people a little dopey, but with its numbing, anti-inflammatory and anti-nausea effects combined, it’s quite the miracle worker. And Daisy’s body’s a miracle too.” 

Despite her authoritative words, Jemma grinned as Daisy grinned, though she was not sure if her compliment was the cause of it.

“What’ve you been doing, babe?” Jemma asked. 

“Been sleep,” Daisy mumbled. “Not sleep. Kind of sleep. Fitz is warm, he’s a good pillow.” 

Fitz, for his part, looked quite proud to be so, and tried to pry Daisy away from Jemma. Slowly, like molasses or vines, Daisy was gravitating toward her, wrapping her limbs around her so that Jemma could not stand up. As she realised her plan was being foiled, Daisy scowled petulantly. 

“Noooo, stay,” she insisted. “Jemma stay.” 

“Jemma has to work!” Jemma insisted. “But I promise I’ll give you an extra big cuddle when I get off, okay? What movie shall we watch?” 

“Legally Blonde.” 

Jemma and Fitz frowned at each other. How long had Daisy been thinking about this? That was a quick response. But still. 

“Okay,” Jemma agreed. “Legally Blonde it is. I’ll see you soon, okay? Eat your pasta. And – uh, maybe get Fitz to help. Try not to make a mess of the sheets?” 

“ _You_ try not to make a mess of _your_  sheets," Daisy retorted stubbornly. She crossed her arms, in a huff as Jemma clearly intended to leave against Daisy’s will. Her stubbornness didn’t last though; she offered her cheek for a brief and apologetic farewell kiss, and then grabbed onto Jemma’s arm and let her drag her almost out of bed, before she finally let go. Overbalanced, she fell half to the floor and Fitz curse out loud behind her, trying to avoid the catastrophic collapse of limbs and material and bowl and pasta and plenty of tomatoey sauce. 

“Daisy!” he managed at last, though his nose was still screwed up at the mess he now sat in. “Are you alright?” 

Daisy was staring at the door in a state of bewilderment, apparently having forgotten how she’d ended up a tangle of limbs on the floor. At the sound of Fitz’s voice, she turned and her face lit up.

“Fitz!” she cried with delight. “Fitz is here!” 

Too long for her own limbs, she stumbled her way back to bed.

“No, no, Daisy, oh-!” Fitz grimaced, cutting himself off as Daisy made her way back to him through the pasta-and-tomato mess. 

“What?” Daisy asked, too late. Fitz grimaced, but Daisy seemed nothing content as she snuggled back up to his side. Her cheek pressed a piece of pasta into his shirt, but she couldn’t feel it. All sensations were a wash of warmth, and Fitz’s body and the bed and the fresh pasta sauce were just threads in the tapestry.

“Nothing, love,” Fitz sighed, and kissed the top of her head. It was not the worst mess they’d found her in, after all.


	3. Smutty Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "I maybe sort of accidentally got turned on while we were laying in the same bed and you’re both clinging onto me from either side and I don’t want to upset you both by moving away but I don’t want either of you to know that I got aroused while we were innocently cuddling. Help." - from the FS Smutathon ~imagine your OT3~
> 
> \+ "sex that eventually dissolves into a giggle fest"
> 
> Rated High T/Low M for (many) sexual references, innuendo etc.

“Fitz,” Jemma whispered. “Look.”

She jabbed a finger in the air and then pressed it to her lips, gesturing for Fitz to be quiet as he followed her finger to look at Daisy’s sleeping face. Her body was curled up against him, so it was hard to look without moving, but he knew what Jemma must be pointing at, and smiled. It was common for Daisy to fall asleep during their movie nights lately. It was a little tempting to stroke her hair, but since she wasn’t expecting it, Fitz refrained. 

“Angel,” he praised, beaming at Jemma in their mutual love for Daisy. Then Jemma yawned back at him. 

“You know,” she said, “I think Daisy’s got the right idea. I think I’ll head to sleep. You don’t mind, do you?” 

Fitz scoffed, and whined sarcastically: “What, you mean you’d rather sleep than watch… Bikini Guns Four or whatever this is called?” 

“I’ve got all the bikinis and guns I need, thanks very much,” Jemma retorted. Fitz preened smugly, and Jemma smirked. 

“I meant these,” she pointed out, and flexed one of her own arms to demonstrate. Since the other guns were obviously Daisy’s, Fitz rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. I guess I’ll continue with this quality viewing on my own then. Want a backrub while I’m up?” 

“Please!” Jemma navigated her limbs around what spaces of Fitz’s body Daisy’s sleeping form was not already taking up, to balance herself as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. He pecked her lips lightly for good measure, and moved his arms to allow her to nest comfortably against his other side. This not-quite-prone position was going to be killer on his back, but he could think about that later.

Once the girls were settled, one on either side of him, Fitz pressed play and the film continued. It was not his usual fare – they tended to eat and talk through these, so they wanted something that didn’t require their attention – but the predictable plot, enjoyable characters, and swathes of bright colour were enough to keep him satisfied. As promised, he stroked Jemma’s back lightly and repetitively, drawing circles and simple patterns over the top of her light pyjama fabric. He occasionally felt a knot release, or heard Jemma sigh, and smiled. 

Then he heard a moaning sound, and his smile faltered. Heat flushed his cheeks, and other places, and his eyes darted back to the screen, where the ethnically-ambiguous-love-interest’s smoky eyes met his as if she knew full well what his body was doing. Then just like that, her piercing gaze was gone - only to be replaced by a steamy make-out session between her and the protagonist, that wasn’t helping Fitz any. He bit his lip as her skirt rode up, and blushed furiously, acutely aware that the evidence of his increasingly aroused state was only inches from Daisy’s hand. And that was only making it worse.

This wasn’t supposed to have been a sexy evening. In fact, if he hadn’t been so hot and bothered, the film’s antics would have been quite funny. As it was, the intensity with which he prayed neither of the girls moved their hands was agony. The fact that the television remote was sliding down the blankets, further and further out of reach with his every attempt, was even worse, but he was determined not to wake them. It would pass, right? If he just relaxed, they need never know that he’d got a boner from an innocent cuddle. - Not that they’d mind, of course. They’d probably be all too happy to help him out. And mock him endlessly about the all-but-celibate life he led and how it wasn’t so sexless after all. 

It was at that moment, of course, that Daisy chose to sigh breathily. 

 _“Sonofabitch,”_ Fitz hissed. The remote was way out of reach by now. The film hd moved on – to its third car chase – but that didn’t matter anymore. Maybe he could just shimmy down to the base of the bed and slip away to take care of himself? No, not with the way they were lying on him. 

And certainly not once Jemma moved her hand, and couldn’t help the slightest twitch of a smile. Swallowing his embarrassment, Fitz croaked: 

“Having fun?”

She was a terrible liar, but Daisy jumped in with her wit, as smooth as chocolate as per usual, and quipped:  
  
“Feels like you’re the one having fun.” 

Fitz scoffed. “You too?”

“Hey,” Daisy pointed out, “if you don’t think I’ve slept on a guy trying to hide a boner before I don’t know what to tell you. It’s cute! And perfectly natural, Fitz. Jemma and I are smokin’. To be honest I’m surprised you haven’t died of blue balls.” 

“You can’t _die_ from that,” Jemma insisted, at the same time Fitz protested: 

“I’m perfectly satisfied with my sex life, thank you!” 

“But Little Fitz is hungry,” Daisy pointed out with a pout. 

“Oh, come on, don’t call it that!” Fitz cried, though his disgust was somewhat lessened by the way Daisy’s fingers tested the waistband of his pants. Her eyes tested his resolve. 

“What if I take care of it?” she offered. Fitz took a deep breath. 

“Then… I guess you can call it whatever you like.”

Jemma purred at Fitz’s sultry tone, and bit her lip as Daisy made her preparations. She was feeling quite hot and bothered herself by now, and watching the way Fitz’s fingers grasped at the sheets and the businesslike way Daisy tied up her hair – and the shamelessly _un_ businesslike expression on her face – had her sitting on her heel for friction. She bit her lip as Daisy leant down, and cupped Fitz’s stiff dick in her hands. Then, just as she was about to take it between her lips, she purred: 

“Come here, my little pants weasel.” 

Fitz gave such an undignified snort that his torso lurched forward. Daisy jumped back, and burst into laughter, and Jemma, thrown of balance, shrieked alongside.

 _“ARE YOU SERIOUS?”_ she rasped. Daisy smirked. 

“Fitz said I could call it whatever I wanted.”

“ _I hate you,”_ Fitz hissed. He grabbed one of the pillows and slapped Daisy with it. She snatched it off him and threw it back. He tried for a second attempt but, distracted as he was, missed Daisy’s easy duck and swiped Jemma again. She lunged for another pillow and booted Daisy with it for starting this whole thing. Fitz shoved his bare cock back into his pants for protection and sat up, on the alert for pillows from all angles. Jemma threw the bedsheets in the air and burrowed beneath them. Trying not to step on her, Fitz and Daisy beat the blankets and tackled each other and Jemma sabotaged them from below. The remote flew into the air and landed on the carpet a few feet away.

Behind them, the movie descended into steamy music and a satin-infused sex scene, no doubt celebrating the hero’s well-earned victory, but by now they were thoroughly ignoring it. Fitz and Daisy teamed up, yanked the blankets off Jemma, attacked her with kisses like tickles until all three of them were laughing so hard that they could barely breathe.


	4. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "the first time FitzSimmons see Daisy in a bikini"  
> T for some innuendo/themes, but for fluffy/comedic (rather than smutty) effect. Set somewhere in the vague vicinity of canon.

Jemma hummed casually along to _Copacabana,_ even though internally, she felt like if she heard it one more time she was going to scream. Swaying to the beat as if she was absentmindedly dancing to herself, she fiddled with her earrings and hair in the bathroom mirror until she was sure the other occupants had left. 

“It’s not working,” she muttered.

 _“It’s working for me,”_ Fitz joked. He had been admiring Jemma’s outfit in the mirror, through the camera she was wearing on her necklace. Realising this, she shot him a glare, and he humbly protested. _“Just trying to lift the mood. Don't feel bad; he'll be looking out for this. He is a professional.”_

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Jemma snapped. “Sorry. I need a drink. A proper one. Too much mocktail sugar, not enough alcohol.” 

She pulled out her phone and pretended to be speaking into it as another group of women, laughing, pushed into the bathroom. She excused herself and slipped back out onto the floor of the resort, pulling her head back into the game.

“If I stick my nose in there again, he’ll know something’s up,” she explained. “I think it’s time for Plan B.” 

Daisy laughed smugly. _“Backup is on the way. On your ten. Get ready to move.”_

Jemma slowed, her eyes seeking out Daisy. Ahead of her was on one side, a pool, and on the other, the drinks tent where she’d been attempting to chat up their mark. It was from the pool that Daisy emerged; her jewel-blue bikini and sunkissed skin glowing with a spirit that their underground base just could not give, and her smooth smile and apparently-effortless sensuality turned up to the maximum. Jemma’s jaw dropped. 

It was only when Daisy opened her mouth and called for a margarita in a twanging Californian accent, that Jemma snapped back to where she was. She sprung forward, ducking behind a group of partygoers to steal an abandoned sunhat from a nearby chair and use it to shield her face as she slipped into the drinks tent, snapped her earring and poured a collection of nanobots into the drink that sat just by Roco’s table. Then she fled, dumped the hat and ran. 

 _“Jemma!”_ Fitz protested. _“Will you stop bouncing around so much? I can’t see a bloody thing! This is why they should go in the bloody sunglasses…”_

“Sorry.” Ducking into an alley behind a souvenir stand to catch her breath, Jemma stilled. Not that there was much to look at now: just a wall made of wooden poles – or rather what she suspected foam constructed to look like wood, for that truly tacky Tiki aesthetic. She screwed up her nose, and Fitz’s tone made her think he must be doing the same. 

 _“Where’d Daisy go?”_  

“I had to get out of there,” Jemma pointed out. “I didn’t want to blow our cover.” 

_“Right. Smart, I guess. Sorry, I was just – thinking – “_

“About how hot Daisy looked?”

 _“Hey, you said it, not me.”_ There was a smile in Fitz’s voice, and Jemma rolled her eyes. 

“Well she _was_ putting it on, of course.” Not that that made it less attractive. A little performance was good now and then for a vibrant sex life. Not that Jemma was thinking about Daisy’s sex life. But she digressed - “And so much better than that awful pineapple shirt we sent her in here with. She must have gone shopping. Blue’s a good colour on her.” 

 _“Speaking of blue,”_ Fitz pointed out, _“you should get rid of the other earring. Somebody might notice.”_

“Oh. Yeah.” Jemma pulled the remaining earring out and rolled it between her fingers. “It was a shame, I really liked those.” 

 _“I’ll make you some more,”_ Fitz offered. _“They’ll have to be nanobot free of course. Jade, maybe.”_  

Jemma smiled, a little sadly as she dropped the earring into the bin and shuffled it down a few layers. 

“I’d like that,” she said, and stepped out of the alley and back into the life of the party as if she’d never left it. She found Daisy grinning at her.

“Watcha talking about?” she asked. Jemma resisted the urge to bite her lip or tug at her hair. She was a professional after all.

“Nothing.”

There was a sparkle in Daisy’s eye, but nothing more. She simply nodded, and offered; 

“How ‘bout I buy you that 'proper drink?'”


	5. Sick!Fic Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma is ill and being stubborn about it.  
> Set in the general vicinity of the UA version of early S4.  
> CW: illness, non-graphic vomit mention.

 “Are you _sure?”_ Daisy pressed, frowning at Jemma with concern. She was seconds away from scooping the frail, shaking form into her arms and carrying her back to bed, but Jemma was determined. She shook her head.

“It’s fine. Just need some more Vitamin C.” 

Daisy looked across at Fitz with concern as Jemma, leaning on the bench as if she’d been shot, lifted the kettle in shaking arms and poured herself a cup of hot lemon water. By some miracle, she didn’t spill it, and put her mouth to her mug with gratitude. 

“See?” she challenged them, beaming with lemon-water splashed across her lips. “Right as rain. A little aspirin, a little lemon, and I’m perfectly prepared for the Ministry of Magic. What did I tell you?” 

“Ministry of _Defence,”_ Daisy prompted. Jemma waved her off and launched herself back toward the lab with a mission. Mostly, her mission was just standing upright, but she figured Daisy and Fitz didn’t need to know that. 

(The fact that they trailed her with their arms a little outstretched as if preparing to catch her? Well, that she just tried to ignore.) 

“That’s what I said,” she insisted. “Practically perfect in every way.” 

“I still feel like you should eat something,” Fitz put in.

“Oh, Fitz. That’s your solution to everything.” Jemma snorted. “It’s well known that the flu causes nausea. I’m hardly going to fuel it now am I? It’s not as if I’m starving. I’ll give food a go after the meeting.”

“I really think you need to stabilize your blood sugar, love,” Fitz pressed. “A banana?” 

“Do we have one?”

For a second, Jemma’s face lit up, the haze of flu far behind. Fitz’s expression dropped. 

“Er, no,” he amended, and thought back to the kitchen for something similar. Tinned plums, perhaps? No doubt she’d say they were too sugary. 

“Why not take this as an opportunity?” Daisy suggested. “I’m sure there are lots of squints in here who’d love to take this on, and your preparation package was so… thorough.” 

“Fantastically thorough,” Fitz agreed, helping Daisy herd Jemma into a chair. She trembled like an old woman as she lowered herself into it, but sat with her chin held stubbornly high. 

“What about, uh, - “ 

“Crawford,” Fitz filled in as Daisy gestured to a young woman trying a little too hard to focus on her work nearby. 

“The neuroscientist? I don’t think so.” Jemma snorted. “Uh. No offence Crawford. It’s just that this is requires a xenobiology specialisation.” 

“Well, humans, aliens, we all have brains don’t we?” Daisy shrugged exaggeratedly. 

“Actually, most aliens are micro-organisms, so-“ 

“Rhiannon could do it!” Fitz finished. “Excellent. Such leadership, elevating your protégés. Bravo.”

“Brava.” Daisy agreed, nodding and meeting eyes with Fitz until he started nodding too. Through the cloudy haze of flu and exhaustion and confusion, and a drink so bitter it made the back of her throat hurt, Jemma squinted. 

“Rhiannon. Byers? Yes. I suppose.” She nodded, dreamily. “I suppose I should tell the Ministry… Give them my apologies….” 

She stood up all of a sudden, and made a bee-line for the hallway. Her stomach hitched, uncomfortable with the sudden movement, and she gagged. Fitz grimaced.

“Oh, dear.” 

Daisy scrambled for a nearby waste-bucket and ran to catch up, herding Jemma away in case her nausea caught up with her. Fitz covered his face for a moment, trying not to gag himself, but when Crawford turned to look at him he jutted his chin and smiled bravely. 

“D-you, uh, do you happen to know where Byers is?” he asked. Crawford pointed to the bacterium fridges and Fitz nodded. Of course that’s where she’d be. Of course Jemma would be too sick to send. He’d almost take the vomit over the bacteria. At least he knew most of vomit used to be food. 

Fortunately, by the time he’d sorted out Jemma’s cover and made it back to her room, whatever vomiting may or may not have occurred had passed, and Jemma – pale as anything, and still with the occasional shudder – was curled up in bed being carefully spooned by Daisy. 

“She was waiting for you,” Daisy whispered, just as Jemma’s heavy eyelids blinked open. 

“Fitz?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell Daisy she shouldn’t be hugging me. She’s not vaccinated.” 

“Okay, baby girl. I sure will. Would you like a warm wheat bag?” 

“Yes please.” 

Jemma pouted miserably as Fitz produced one, pre-prepared, and let her tuck it against her belly. Daisy insisted on wrapping her in limbs, which Jemma figured would prove an interesting test of the Inhuman immune system. But that was for another time. For now, Fitz was tucking a second blanket over all three of them and settling in to spend the day working from “home.”


	6. Hurt/Comfort/Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daisy's been avoiding Fitz & Simmons because she's been having nightmares and doesn't want to hurt them with her powers.  
> Hurt/comfort/fluff; mild angst with a happy ending. also ft. DaisyMack brotp.

Daisy’s bleary eyes blinked open, and her cheek peeled off the desk slowly as she lifted her aching head. Her computer whirred and flickered back to life, jumping into action, and she snorted softly at it. 

“At least one of us is up.” 

She stretched her back and arms and then snuck out of the room, beginning a routine that had become familiar over the last few days as she ducked and dodged people going about their business and made her way to the gym. There she had a bag of clothes stashed in a locker so she wouldn’t have to sneak back into FitzSimmons’ room and give herself away. She also had a stash of protein bars so that she could avoid the kitchen until they would be safely in the lab – but no, she’d forgotten to restock! 

“ _Damn it,”_ she hissed, shoving her hand aggressively around the bottom of the bag. 

“Trouble in paradise?” 

Daisy spun around to see a flushed and sweaty Mack, smiling knowingly at her. 

“Ran into Jemma this morning,” he continued. “She was on her way out. Said she didn’t see you last night – or the last few. Now Fitz is cooking up a storm and you’re choosing Power Cardboard 500 instead of the fluffiest scrambled eggs I’ve ever seen? Something’s up, man. Is it you or them?”

He held out a bottle of water. Resigned to her confession, Daisy sighed and accepted it; poured a little onto her hand and splashed her face. 

“It’s me,” she explained. “I’ve been – not sleeping well. Didn’t want them to worry, so I ducked out for a little while.” 

Mack frowned. “Do they know?”

Daisy shook her head. 

“I know them. Fitz’ll be trying to figure out what’s wrong and Jemma will be researching sleep techniques as soon as I open my big fat mouth. Best just to let it pass on its own. I’ll be fine.” 

She smiled as inspiringly as possible. Then Mack pursed his lips for a moment, and Daisy scowled. He disagreed. Which he should, really, because her plan was destructive but sometimes she preferred it that way. She shoved the bottle of water into her gym bag and back into her locker, eager to get away and get her head fixed on the day, to leave the bad night behind her. And to escape Mack’s kind eyes before she caved and begged for help.

- 

Unfortunately for Daisy though, she didn’t get much time to ponder Mack’s advice, as on her way to sneaking back into work, she passed the kitchen and couldn’t help but stop to smell the bacon. Her mouth watered. She’d never even been much of a bacon person most of her life, but she knew it came with sausage and egg and fresh orange juice and roasted coffee. As roasted as it could get in this place, anyway. And most of all, it came with the whispered voices of Fitz and Simmons which – just like the bacon, perhaps – she hadn’t realised quite how much she’d missed.

“Oh, Daisy!” Fitz called, waving at her. Jemma turned around and grinned, though she was blushing a little – probably embarrassed at how worried she’d been and wondering if Mack had run into Daisy. Which, of course, he had. But Daisy shrugged it off. 

“What’s going on in here?” she asked, making a show of being intrigued as if she’d only just noticed. Fitz plated up a scoop of scrambled eggs and with a pair of tongs, waved a sausage at her. Daisy put up two fingers and he put two short, fat sausages on the plate next to the eggs. No bacon. And beside it, a glass of orange juice from Jemma; shining and cool and beautiful. 

Daisy’s stomach growled, and she felt so intensely hungry all of a sudden that it was like she wanted to cry. Desperate to avoid FitzSimmons these last few days she’d been living on bars and leftovers of mass-produced cafeteria food that stocked the fridges of various mess halls. It felt so empty. As did the realisation that she’d thought she was being strong when really she was just depriving herself. And the fact that, nightmares or no nightmares, sleeping alone at a desk or in med or on the Quinjet could never possibly be as good as a bed and the arms of the people that loved her. 

Then again. They were exactly the reason she was going to all this trouble. 

And they were staring. 

“Daisy?” Jemma wondered. “Are you okay?”

Daisy flinched, jolting back to reality. 

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “Yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Fitz and Jemma shared a concerned look. Daisy nudged the egg around her plate, a bitter taste in her mouth all of a sudden; had she wanted them to notice her choice of words? 

“Are you sleeping okay?” Jemma asked. Not _where are you sleeping_ but they must know. They must know by now. Strange, how easy it was to forget that she was wanted, not just monitored, by these people. So Daisy drew a deep breath. 

“Honestly, no,” she confessed. “That’s why I’ve been out these past few nights. It’s just nightmares. Kid stuff. I’m fine.”

Fitz hummed in consternation. A smile twitched at Daisy’s lips. Knowing how eager they both were to jump to her aid, she was suddenly feeling a lot better about all this. 

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “Honestly. My body has defense mechanisms, that’s all. It’d be just like you guys kicking when you’re trying to run. Stuff like that. Except I’m throwing people across the room.” 

“So you were going to just avoid us until it stopped?” Jemma wondered. 

“That was… kinda the plan, yeah.” 

“Where’ve you been all this time then?” 

“Around.” 

Both of them gave her a fierce glare for that and Daisy elaborated:

“Med bay. The roof. Set up a bunk in my little office-y thing. Around.” 

They scowled. 

“Why not the Pod?” Fitz offered.

“I don’t have access,” Daisy pointed out. “Not out-of-hours anyway.” 

Fitz and Jemma snorted in unison, and Fitz slapped his access card down on the table. 

“You do now,” he said. 

- 

By the end of the day, Daisy was yelling furiously into a tiny microphone clipped to her ear and resisting the urge to throw her controller at the enormous screen set up in front of her bed. Unfortunately for her, she had to bow to the reigning champion, but she smiled as she did so and as Fitz switched her livestream from their game screen to the webcam. Fortunately though, Jemma climbed into bed next to Fitz before he could gloat too much, and demanded control of the television. 

The three of them haggled over films for the next little while and eventually settled on Star Wars – theoretically in preparation for the upcoming new release, though it was not as if they didn’t know them all by heart already. At first, they commentated here and there, then more and different and on unrelated tangents, but eventually they fell silent as they began to drift off. 

After a while, Jemma nudged Fitz and pointed to the little screen in the corner, where they could still see Daisy, sprawled across a nest of blankets and pillows and apparently, soundly asleep. It remained to be seen whether she’d stay that way of course, but for now at least, it felt good to have brought her peace.

Holding the image of Daisy’s smiling sleep in her mind, Jemma rolled over and turned the lights out.


	7. Hurt/Comfort/Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You forgot to pay the power bill and now the lights are out. What now?  
> Rated G/T. Hurt/comfort // Mild angst with a happy ending. vague College-ish AU.

_“OHHHH! HEY!”_

_“NO, YOU CAN’T-“_

_“SSHH! Shh, shh-“_

_“You’re right, shh,”_

Jemma rolled her eyes at Fitz and Daisy’s shushing from the other room. They’d recently acquired a new videogame and had agreed to play it quietly, since Jemma was still studying, but it wasn’t really working out. Jemma could hardly blame them, she supposed, even as she bit her lip and turned her music up a little to drown them out. Even she was getting to that point in semester where she’d rather hang upside down off the back of the couch and join in with their shoot-em-up antics. And she loved homework – so they said – “more than life itself.”

All of a sudden though, the universe had apparently decided this was one too many slips in their promise. The lights went out and the music went silent, and suddenly Jemma’s highlighter was the brightest thing in the room. Even the clock was out. The only other light came from her phone – alerting her that it had been taken off charge – and the little corner of glow-in-the-dark space stickers above their bed that Daisy had put there once, for fun. They spoke to a whimsy and self-assurance that Jemma usually loved about her… 

Just not when it came with this level of forgetfulness. 

Jemma ground her teeth together, and tried not to throw open the bedroom door too hard as she stalked back into the lounge. 

“What was that?” she demanded icily, glad the others could not see her expression properly. She was way too stressed out and exhausted to think about this rationally.

“Power’s down,” Fitz said. “Did you have the kettle and the microwave on at the same time again?”

“In the bedroom?” Jemma challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

Then Daisy raised a hand. 

“Uh, guys, I think this is my bad,” she confessed. “I may have forgotten to pay the electricity bill. Well, I mean, I didn’t forget. I was sort of in a standoff with the building manager about the laundry situation and I said I wouldn’t pay our electricity or our water til it was fixed because it’s in our tenancy rights but –“ 

“Is it?!” Jemma challenged. “Is it in our tenancy rights? Well that’s fantastic. Is there a bloody great candle in there too? Hmm? Perhaps some glow sticks?” 

“Jem, come on.” Daisy held up her hands in surrender, trying to step lightly. “You were mad about it too.” 

“I still am!” Jemma jabbed a finger back at where her study notes were waiting – “but _I have exams to do._ Did you have to take this stand _now_ of all times? It’s _finals, Daisy!_ I need power! I need my computer! I need _light!_ How could you be so inconsiderate? Or were you just so thick-headed that you didn’t see this coming?!” 

 _“HEY!”_ Fitz stepped forward, putting himself between them. “That’s uncalled for, Jemma. Come on.” 

“You’re taking _her side?”_ Jemma glared, tears in her eyes. “You _know_ how important this is to me!” 

“I just think you need to calm down, that’s all. Daisy made a mistake, but –“ 

“But _I’m_ being ridiculous. Okay. It’s only my whole future resting on these results. But okay. I’m going downstairs.”

Wiping her eyes, Jemma stormed back into her room, swept her belongings into a bag, and stormed back out again, right past Fitz and Daisy and out the door. 

-

Once Jemma was gone, Daisy sunk back onto the couch and checked her own eyes for tears. 

“She’s right, I’m being stupid,” she sniffled, digging for her phone in the pile of clothes and food packets that had built up around them. “I’ll call the landlord and sort this out right now. Just pay the damn thing.” 

“I don’t think you should do that,” Fitz advised, taking her hands gently in his to stop her fretting. “Otherwise when are we going to fight this? Christmas? New Year? Then we’ll all be back to school and it’ll start again. Stick to your guns, Daisy! Or are you going to give up your principles for a girl, hm?”

He nudged her playfully, and the tiniest of smiles cracked through the fear and onto her face.

“There she is,” Fitz encouraged. “Come on, you know Jemma would be right alongside you on this crusade any other day. She’s just stressed out of her brain right now. And you _know_ she has these exams in the bag. She’ll be fine. And a new washing machine won’t shrink her sweaters, so she’ll thank you in the end, right?” 

Daisy sighed.

“I guess you’re right,” she agreed, and with renewed vigour, tossed the phone back onto the pile of mess on the couch. “Screw that guy, it’s Jemma we’ve got to worry about. And I’ve got an idea.”

-

“Jemma. _Jemma.”_

“Mm?” 

Jemma jolted awake to the feeling of someone tapping her elbow. She dragged her face up off the table and blinked, bleary-eyed, surprised to find herself in the internet café around the corner, with Daisy in her face and Fitz standing at the end of the table, looking on with concern. She was not sure how much time had passed since she’d left. Was it morning already? Or was her tea still warm? 

“What ‘re you doing here?” she mumbled. 

“We’re here to bring you home,” Daisy promised. “I’m sorry about the blackout, but I think we’ve reached a compromise you’ll appreciate.” 

Jemma nodded, feeling too tired for words like _compromise_ and _appreciate,_ and preferring to all but flop into Fitz’s arms where he waited, as Daisy wilfully entangled herself in all of Jemma’s belongings (“how did you get all this down here?!”). Her brain was full of white noise as they made their way back to the apartment, but by the time they stepped over the threshold, Jemma was starting to remember why she was mad. It didn’t feel as visceral anymore – she felt burnt out, and she was still drop-dead tired – but she clenched her teeth together. Whatever Daisy had, she thought warningly, had better be good. 

Fortunately, it was.

“Now, admittedly, I didn’t do this all myself,” Daisy confessed. “But Fitz has rigged up this place with a generator, so the fridge, kettle, and the odd charger should be working. Your laptop battery is supercharged, and… I found a couple candles.” 

Daisy led the way and Fitz walked Jemma into the kitchen, where candles were clustered near the chargers and keys; the sink; the kettle; the fridge. The lounge and coffee table had been cleared of clothes, and rubbish, and other junk, and dotted here and there with candles too. As Daisy led her and Fitz down the hall, Jemma even spotted candles in their bedroom, but Daisy kept going all the way to the bathroom, where a warm and rosy scent floated out to meet her. Daisy smiled apologetically, and pushed the door open, gesturing for Jemma to continue inside.

“Daisy,” Jemma whispered, her eyes trailing the display of candles that danced around the room. There were a couple of new glow-in-the-dark stars in the corner of the mirror. She smiled. “What is this?” 

“I’m sorry I was inconsiderate with my timing, and that our landlord’s a dick. And I’m sorry that you’re so stressed out. Fitz and I will shut our faces - for real this time – so you can take the night off, okay? We love you. I love you.” 

Jemma nodded, tearing up. “Love you too, Daisy. Sorry I called you thick-headed. You should know, your stubbornness is one of your best qualities.” 

“Yeah, well,” Daisy scoffed. “Enjoy that warm bath while it lasts, ‘cause our water bill’s on final notice too. Loveyoubye.” 

Blowing her a kiss, Daisy ducked out the door and shut it behind her. Jemma opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came to mind. At this point, she was not even sure she followed what was going on. What she did know was that her body seemed to be climbing into a warm, lovingly prepared bath of its own accord, and she was hardly one to argue with that.


	8. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character(s) A (&B) meet C in the ER on Christmas Eve.
> 
> After an ill-fated dare, Fitz & Daisy (est rshp) meet the illustrious Doctor Jemma Simmons in the ER. ft. hopeless bumbly flirting, patching up, and Jewish Jemma bc I can. also, tw for blood re: Fitz's broken nose. Rated low T.

“Oh God – I can’t – there’s so much blood.” 

Fitz’s eyes streamed with tears, and it was all he could do to hold the bloodsoaked flannel to his nose as he tried to find an angle that didn’t make him feel like his face was imploding. That was, of course, impossible, since his nose was quite thoroughly broken so his face was – as he would insist on telling the story for years to come – technically, imploding.

“Sit still!” Daisy insisted. “Unless you wanna be swallowing the stuff.” 

“Too late,” Fitz moaned, but he slumped in his chair obediently, feeling quite sorry for himself. Daisy pouted in sympathy and took his hand. 

“Be brave and we’ll get icecream after, okay?” 

“…. I’d like that,” Fitz confessed.

Just then, Daisy straightened and leaned forward in her seat. A young woman with honey-coloured hair pulled back in a ponytail, and bright hazel eyes – impressively perky, for this time of the night, and on Christmas Eve no less – was waiting in the doorway. 

“Leopold?” 

Fitz made a quiet sound of frustration and Daisy elbowed him lightly. Rolling his eyes as best he could without moving his head too much, he stood and followed her guidance with his limited vision. 

“I’m Doctor Simmons,” greeted the young doctor, leading them through the Emergency Room and into a small practice office, where she gestured for them to sit. “Ooh, that looks nasty. Whatever happened?” 

“Iceskating,” Fitz explained, with a miserable huff.

“Ah, I see,” Simmons noted. “We get plenty of those this time of year. Although it’s more typically an ankle or knee.” 

Fitz grimaced before he could think about it, then cried out in pain when his face crinkled up, and yelped, and before he knew it Doctor Simmons had a light spray of blood across her scrubs. 

“Oh, God,” Fitz apologised. “I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s no bother!” Simmons assured him, unfazed. “Happens all the time.” 

“Gross.” 

“Quite.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean -” Fitz bit his tongue, determined not to stick his foot any deeper into his mouth as Simmons pulled a pair of gloves on and peeled the soaked towel away from his nose. She hissed a little as Fitz winced, but otherwise kept her face quite still as she cleaned and perused his injury. 

Daisy gaped. _“Dude._ You’re so glad you’re not me or you would’ve passed out by now. That is. I mean, woah. You’re gonna need that insurance.”

“Ugh, don’t even get me started.”

“Well,” Simmons interrupted. “You don’t appear to have deviated your septum which is good news – you should count yourself very luck, Mr Fitz. It’ll be significantly cheaper, and less of a hassle, than a broken ankle, I can tell you that much.” 

“Can we stop talking about broken ankles, please?” Fitz requested. 

Simmons smirked. “Squeamish?” 

“Yes,” Daisy answered for him. “He barely opened his eyes all the way here.”

“Skating is a dangerous sport! Bad things happen, Daisy! Hunter swears his girlfriend once nearly cut his fingers up.” 

“Sure. He’d also swear that she climbed into his bedroom window and literally murdered him if given the chance, so- “ 

Daisy cut herself off, noticing Doctor Simmons hiding a chuckle and biting her lip as she went about preparing the tape for Fitz’s nose. Caught out, Simmons blushed a little.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “It sounds like you two have fun, that’s all.”

Fitz puffed out his chest a little. 

“Well I _am_ quite good at-“ he began, just as Daisy blurted:

“Why aren’t you?” 

Too late to take it back, she slipped her hands into her pockets and cleared her throat as casually as possible – which was of course, not that casual at all. Might as well lean into it.

“… Having fun, I mean,” she finished. “It’s Christmas Eve. What’s a pretty Doctor like you doing in a place like this?” 

Simmons moved as if to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, though there was none, and shrugged. “Oh, well, I don’t really celebrate Christmas. I’m Jewish, actually. So.”

“Oh, well that’s…” Daisy regretted her sentence even as the words slipped out. What was she going to say – Good? Bad? Congratulations two thousand years of persecution? She swallowed uncomfortably and Fitz stepped in – 

“Nothing, that’s nothing,” he waved her off. “Sorry, we’re both probably still a little tipsy.”

“It happens a lot, actually,” Simmons waved him off, and resumed laying the tape across his skin. “What I mean is – I work my holidays anyway; I don’t mind working someone else’s. Oh. Wow. That sounded really sad, didn’t it?” 

“Not as sad as being admitted to the ER in the middle of the night because your girlfriend convinced you to do a bloody pirouette whilst balancing on what are basically knives.” This time, at least, he remembered not to snort. 

“Hey, you were doing pretty well until you hit that stone or whatever!” Daisy protested. “For someone who’s basically a drunk giraffe in real life, you have good form. I imagine.” 

“Though in iceskating, it is technically just called a spin,” Simmons corrected.

“What?” 

“Not a pirouette,” Simmons explained. “It’s just called a spin. At least, I assume that’s what you were trying to do. It’s a common basic move.” 

“You can skate too?” Fitz and Daisy shared a glance. 

“Absolutely. I used to compete as a girl.” 

“Of course you did,” Daisy muttered, as awed as Fitz’s silent expression also conveyed. Simmons schooled her expression, blush deepened by their flattery, and checked Fitz’s tapes over one more time.

“That should do it,” she announced. “And look at the time – it’s a Christmas miracle.” 

Fitz touched his tender flesh, and grimaced immediately. Simmons cringed too, but shared an amused glance with Daisy as Fitz muttered; “Yeah, I regret that.”

“Well, thanks very much for that, Doctor,” Daisy finished. “Now I think it’s time I get my man home. Sorry about – just, everything – and Happy Hannukah!” 

Simmons beamed. “Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Hannukah,” Fitz agreed, with somewhat less gusto as his queasiness began to set in again. He gravitated toward the door, eager to get out of there before he could do anything particularly embarrassing or untoward, but Daisy and the doctor were busy smiling at each other for a few more seconds. 

“I, um – “ Simmons offered. “I haven’t skated much since I moved to the States, but I might look into it. Where did you say you were again?” 

“Richmond Street,” Daisy returned. “Maybe we’ll run into you. You could teach us a few things, I’m sure.” 

“I’d be happy to.” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah.”

Fitz cleared his throat, and both women’s attention snapped to him. 

“Sorry,” he interrupted, “but –“ 

“Right,” Daisy agreed.

“Before you go,” Simmons offered, “take this. It should help reduce the pain for the night, help you get in some good sleep. And stay out of trouble.”

“Will do, Doc,” Fitz agreed, humbled. “Lesson learned; don’t drink and skate.”

“Drinking and knife throwing though,” Simmons suggested. “That’s a good time.”

“You should see him play Five Finger Fillet!” Daisy interjected. 

Despite his smile, Fitz objected. “Maybe another time.”

“Sure. Right. We’re off.” Daisy nodded primly. “Thanks again, Doctor – Simmons, right?” 

“Simmons, yes,” the Doctor agreed. “Jemma. Simmons.”

Daisy nodded again. “Thank you… Doctor _Jemma_ Simmons. See you down Richmond sometime. Just not tomorrow – Fitz and I’ve got to make the rounds. Starting with Breakfast!” 

“Ugh,” Fitz threw back his head, and yelped, and groaned. “Son of a bitch.” 

“Tuesday, then?” Simmons suggested. “It’s a date.”

“That it is.”

Fitz nodded in agreement, and offered his arm. Grinning broadly, quite satisfied with herself, Daisy took it and the two of them swanned off together, leaving Jemma in the doorway for a few more seconds, wondering a little about what exactly she’d just done, before she pulled herself together. In a swift, practiced sweep, she bundled together all the bloodied material in the room and threw it out, fixed her hair, washed her hands, and strode back down the hall for her next patient.

(Though, she had a feeling they weren’t going to be as interesting as her last.)


	9. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little 5x06 coda featuring romantic FitzSkimmons  
> surprisingly fluffy, with a little hurt/comfort. Rated T for mentions of violence, injury.

“Put me down, put me down!” Daisy demanded as they rounded another corner and approached what might, for now, be called safety. Reluctantly, FitzSimmons obliged, and Daisy cried out through clenched teeth as they eased her to the ground as best they could. 

“I’m sorry, that was my bad,” Fitz fretted. “I should have nicked the remote-“

“I should have just climbed the bloody stairs instead of being a showoff,” Daisy retorted and gritted her teeth, looking up and away as Jemma prodded at her injuries. “I knew they had it. What an idiot. May’s gonna kill me.”

“If it helps, you looked amazing,” Fitz assured her. Daisy snorted, and Jemma rolled her eyes – though her fond smile suggested she agreed. 

“Follow my finger,” she instructed, and began the customary dance while Daisy did her best to follow. When she was done, Jemma frowned, and hummed softly to herself. Daisy grimaced. 

“What’s the damage, doc?” 

“Well, you’ve got a relatively minor concussion,” she explained, in an exasperated tone, “which I’d say was impressive except that it seems to be due to your poor ankle taking the worst of it. The right one is definitely broken, possibly shattered, and the left doesn’t look too happy either. You’re extremely lucky that you didn’t dislocate something, dropping from that height onto solid concrete.” 

“So what you’re saying is, May _should_ kill me,” Daisy noted. “Good to have you onside. Thanks for the support.” 

She groaned as she tried to adjust her seating position, and Jemma glared at her. 

“What I am _saying,”_ she corrected, “is that you’d better hope your face doesn’t swell up too much because that and your hands are the only things you have going for you.” 

Daisy smiled a winning smile, and batted her eyelids. “Aren’t they always?” 

Her attempt at humour faded, however, when Jemma pursed her lips and went back to her work. She knew that Jemma was only crabby because she was worried, but it still hurt. Fortunately, Fitz took this moment to reach for her hand, and though her knuckles were bloody and bruised, his touch was soothing. His eyes were gentle, warm and comforting. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “Sorry for putting you in that position.” 

“’s okay,” Daisy excused him. “It got us here, didn’t it?” 

“Sorry about – that Inhuman,” Fitz continued. 

“Ben." Daisy sighed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Jemma paused in her ministrations. Her expression had softened, no longer as affected by her own frustration and worry after overhearing Fitz and Daisy. Trying to cut away the bottom of Daisy’s pants with only a butterknife seemed like a minor problem now. Still, it had to be done. She cleared her throat, cracking through the fragile silence and pulling them back to the task at hand. 

“Ah, sorry,” she interrupted. “Does anyone have anything for – “ 

With his free hand – the one not holding Daisy’s - Fitz reached into his boot and pulled out a whopper of a knife; something that had apparently come straight out of Rambo. It sliced through Daisy’s pants with ease, and Jemma started working on her shoe. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” Daisy scoffed. Fitz gestured to his jacket, and the gleaming Genku-larvae badge. 

“Evil scary murderer, remember?” 

“Right. Got anything else up your sleeve?” 

“Unfortunately not. We were short on time and shockingly, when Kasius decided to surround himself with competitive warmongers he requested that no weapons be allowed.” 

“Jemma?” Daisy asked hopefully. “You’ve got huge sleeves. Anything useful?” 

“Just the butterknife.” Jemma held it up, its tiny serrations shimmering with some sort of blue liquid. Fitz and Daisy frowned at it, then at each other.

“Is that…” Fitz wondered.

“Blood?” Jemma filled in. “Yes, I think so. I don’t think he’s dead, or there would have been more of it, but it’ll throw him.” 

“It’ll also make him want to kill you,” Fitz pointed out. 

“- but _you_ stole his prize possession, and 'it' helped,” Daisy added, “so he probably already wants to kill all of us. Which means we shouldn’t stay here.” 

“Ideally, we shouldn’t move you either,” Jemma pointed out. “But you’re right. Fitz?”

“On it.” Fitz grabbed the knife and hacked one of Jemma’s sleeves away. Then he began ripping the material into strips, and Daisy focused on staying as still as possible while Jemma made quick work of a tourniquet. 

“Now, Daisy, don’t you walk on this,” she warned gravely. “And once we get you back to the lower decks, keep it elevated above your heart, okay?” 

“What- you’re going to dump me in medical?” Daisy objected. “What about May? What about…“

Voiceless, her lips finished the sentence: _what about us?_  

_Us against the world._

Jemma bit her lip. She glanced over at Fitz, and he looked back with the same thought in his eyes. It was risky, but neither one of them would take well to being left behind, especially with the rest of the team in danger. Besides, it was not as though Daisy herself was not hot property: they couldn’t trust that the lower decks would not be raided, and leaving a powerless, severely injured Daisy alone with a price on her head was not something that appealed to them either. In fact, they were probably even less supportive of the idea than Daisy herself. 

Somewhere down the hall, a bullet pinged off metal.

“I vote we argue about this later,” Fitz suggested, already helping Daisy to her feet. 

“Seconded,” Daisy agreed. 

“What are we going to do?” Jemma pressed. Her hands tightened around the knives. 

Wide-eyed, the three of them shared a look, each spinning calculations in their heads based on their skills, resources, and liabilities. Questions pinged around the circle. 

“You know your way around here, right?” 

“How far can you carry 130 pounds?”

“Is it too risky to remove the implants altogether?” 

“How many rounds has this thing got left?” 

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Daisy declared. “Jemma, you go on ahead. Keep the knives, we might need them later, but the fight’s behind us at the moment. You navigate. Fitz: I’m gonna need you to think buff thoughts. First stop is the nearest elevator, wherever the hell that is.” 

“What about you?” 

“Me?” Daisy snatched the gun off Fitz, checked its rounds, and cocked it. “I take this. Concussed or not concussed I can still hit a moving target if it’s 180 pounds, especially if it’s moving toward me.” More bullets, and shouting down the hall. Daisy ground her teeth together. “So are we ready?” 

Then came a shout of _Hey, you there!_ which the three of them took as a cue.

Jemma took off, piecing together everything she’d learnt over her time here into as comprehensive a map as she could make, and willing herself to find the lift, lift, lift. Fitz hauled Daisy into his arms and ran after her, concentrating on keeping his back to the battle so that Daisy’s aim of the ICER over his shoulder remained true. It was nervewracking, but their enemies fell, and though a few bullets shot past, none of them touched him. 

Daisy whooped with glee as they left their first lot of enemies behind them. 

“Nice work! How’s that elevator coming, Jemma? And – damn, Fitz, do you even lift?” 

She grinned, and Fitz scoffed – insofar as one could, as his lungs started to resist the straining effort of his arms.

“There’s not much to do in prison, okay?” he retorted.

“Prison?” she frowned. “When were you in prison?” 

“Long story. Carry now, talk later.” 

“This way.” Jemma waved them into a side passage, and then into an elevator. 

“Oh, thank God,” Fitz sighed, and for a moment he let Daisy slip to the ground so that she stood on one foot, leaning on his shoulders. She mimicked a swoon, grinning broadly as she teased;

“My hero! Oh – and speaking of which, what was that ‘marry me, Fitz’ nonsense in the arena?” 

“Not nonsense! I really meant it,” Jemma objected, and when Daisy met her with a skeptical glare, raised her hands innocently. “What? He was being all dashing and I couldn’t help it. You should’ve seen him.”

“Is this true?” Daisy demanded, prodding Fitz in the shoulder.

“That depends,” he returned. “D’you call this dashing?” 

He lunged in for a kiss, running his hands over her back for extra support as she swayed backward on one ankle, the other hovering like a popped cherry. She tasted like sweat and grit, which actually wasn’t unusual for her. He tasted of decadent wine he probably hated, and Jasmine flowers – Jemma’s perfume, Daisy realised. He held her up more strongly than usual, knowing she couldn’t stand on her own right now, but even so his expression was tender as she rested her forehead against his, and brushed her fingers through his stubble. He ran his teeth over his own lower lip, as if he could still feel her kiss on them, and his eyes shone with a deep and powerful sense of contentment.

Daisy sighed, even though her heart was pounding in her chest. 

“Fine,” she breathed, running a finger down his jacket and hoping her cheeks de-flushed sometime soon. “Marry me too, ya bastard.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, and put a hand over hers where she played with the badge that rested over his heart. “But I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. It’s made of space bugs.” 

“Ooh, what kind?” Jemma interrupted. She paid no mind to Fitz and Daisy’s amused smirk as they passed it to her; more interested in the diamonte-like decorations. “Looks like Genku larvae. Fascinating.”

“Happy Engagement, babe,” Fitz said, leaning over to kiss her. Daisy tried to counterbalance, but the angle was wrong and she yelped when her toes hit the floor. Fitz straightened up immediately to catch her. 

“Sorry!” he cried. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” Daisy assured him. “But all I want for our engagement is for you to make it down the next hallway without bumping my ankle on any doorways, okay?” 

“Done.” 

With that, all three of them refocused with steely determination on the doors that were about to open up before them. Daisy pointed the nose of her pistol forward this time, and Jemma – knives at the ready, just in case – made sure to stay out of the way.

“Alright. Let’s go.”


	10. Angst/Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons find out Daisy was self-harming on the run/when she returns.  
> TW: self-destructive behaviour (canon compatible early S4).  
> Angst/hurt/comfort, mild angst with a happy ending. Hurt/comfort. Rated T.

“Doctor Fitz,” Jemma called from across the lab.

Fitz paused, freezing midway through his description of a biplane’s engine. Piper and Davis were doing their best to school their expressions, but it was not working out well. It was rare that Fitz’s name had a title attached to it at all, let lone from Jemma’s lips. 

“Might I speak with you for a moment?” she requested, her voice crisp and firm. 

Davis cleared his throat. Piper, hiding her lips behind her hand, teased, “Ooh, someone’s in trouble!”, and Fitz felt heat rise in his cheeks. Jemma wasn’t one to call him away from work for fun and games – especially not with that expression. As he got closer, Fitz saw concern, perhaps even fear, under her stern demeanor. He let her pull him into a side office without quarrel, honestly baffled as she shut the door behind him and waved a bottle of pills in his face. 

“Do you know about this?” she demanded, hissing through clenched teeth. 

“About what?” Fitz replied, trying to grab the bottle, or at least read it. 

“Are you and Daisy hiding something from me again?” Jemma fretted. “Is she hurting herself?” 

“Hurting- What?” Frowning, Fitz snatched the bottle from her and read the label. Though he didn’t follow the particulars at first glance, he knew enough to recognise it as an advanced form of the accelerated bone-regrowth medication Jemma had started working on ever since they’d first discovered Daisy’s powers. They had stores of it, though. It was hardly damning. Unless… “Where did you find this?”

“In the cupboard, with the others,” Jemma explained. “It was open. _Four_ were open; none of them missing more than a few. Somebody’s been skimming tablets. I’m not mad, just tell me, was it you?” 

“I dunno, Jemma, you look pretty mad.” 

She didn’t help her case by shrieking through her teeth at him in frustration. Then again, he supposed, he should have expected that. Putting the bottle aside, he recalibrated his attitude, softening in the face of her increasingly visible distress as she paced the small office. 

“I promise,” he repeated solemnly, “it wasn’t me. Daisy’s arms are busted up from her time outside, but you already know about that. Is it possible that it still hurts and she’s been taking them to help get back on her feet?” 

“Why not ask, then?” Jemma wondered. “Why not just get a script? The damage to her arms is obvious, it’s not like she can hide that part – “ 

“Unless that’s not what she’s trying to hide,” Fitz suggested. “The damage might _not_ be as bad as it should be, for example. She might have already been taking the tablets while she was outside. Maybe she’s scared you’ll find out.” 

“No.” Jemma shut her eyes and shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

But she heard it as soon as she said it. They had to be wary of that word in this job. It invited a whole slew of possibilities to fill her head. For one, the seals indeed could have been faultily made, and the tablets miscounted. A possibility, but extremely unlikely. Another theory: somebody else could be skimming – it’s not like they didn’t all have their issues in here. Why the thief would go for barely-beyond-experimental osteo medication instead of well-established pain-killers like kodeine, pseudoephrodrine or morphine was lost on her for the moment but Jemma wasn’t bothered. She was already abandoning that theory in favour of a third. Daisy could have had somebody on the inside, smuggling her food, drugs, and all manner of things. Somebody who moved in and out of the base a lot. Somebody with the skill, the smarts, and the _ability,_ to steal something right out from underneath their noses - and to alter the paperwork and the computer records, explaining why nobody had noticed until now. That person could have stolen bottles at a time, even, until Daisy came back and the pattern changed and maybe, now, Daisy was taking them for herself – in secret, because she was afraid not just of facing a weakness or Jemma’s disapproval, but of ratting out her friend.

“Elena,” Jemma whispered. “Of course.” 

“Elena?” Fitz frowned. “I thought we were talking about Daisy.” 

With no reply, Jemma snatched the bottle of pills from the bench and strode off on her way. Fitz, though he’d caught up quickly to how Elena fit in with all this, went the other way. 

\--

He found Daisy in her bunk, rapping at a small, balloon-sized punching bag with strapped knuckles. She looked surprised to see him, but that was not unusual; it was an unexpected place for both of them to be, at this hour, in the middle of the day. Frowning, she stopped her activity and picked up a water bottle, hoping she didn’t wince too much at the pain in her fingers while he finished whatever it was he’d clearly come to say.

Which was, apparently, nothing. He stared, disbelieving of what was before him and how it fell in with what he’d learnt. And how had he not noticed it before?

“Well?” Daisy pressed, though the weight of her water bottle was searing through her wrist as if she were holding up a car. If he didn’t talk or leave soon, she’d blow her cover. As nonchalantly as possible, she tossed her bottle down onto her bed and dropped onto her sheets after it, casually reaching for a pillow to hug and hide her bruises.

“What’re you doing in here?” Fitz asked, studying her punching bag as he stepped into the room. 

“May booted me from the gym,” Daisy complained. “Says I shouldn’t be working my wrists yet.” 

“She’s right.” 

“They’re fine!” Daisy protested. “I- “  
  
The words died in her throat and that was when Fitz knew without a doubt.

“You’ve gotten used to the pain?” he speculated, and Daisy did not counter. Nor did she protest when he came to sit beside her on the bed, and softly asked, “can I take a look?”

She unburied her arm from the pillow and passed it to Fitz, who unwrapped it slowly. Both of them winced as his gentle touch seemed to attack her tender flesh, but neither pulled away. 

“Daisy, my God,” he murmured, “what did you do? How long’s it been like this?”

“Couple weeks,” Daisy replied with a shrug. She sniffed back tears. “I can take it. I want to work.“ 

“You can’t push yourself like this!” Fitz scolded. 

“I have a better diet now,” Daisy insisted. “Better sleep. I should be stronger. I _should_ be able to take it.”

“Is that why you’ve been stealing accelerated-healing meds from Jemma? Oh my – how many of those have you been taking?”

“Just a few, I swear,” Daisy appeased. “I’m only skimming off the top, I was hoping nobody would notice. I didn’t want to steal a whole bottle in case Jemma got in trouble… or in case you guys found it.” 

“Why not just ask for them?” Fit wondered. “In a state like this…” 

“I didn’t want Jemma to know how bad it was. And I didn’t – “ Daisy sighed. “I didn’t want anybody to look at the records too closely.” 

“Because Elena was bringing you bottles while you were away.” 

Fitz swallowed a lump of doubt and fear and pain. He lowered Daisy’s wrist to the pillow and picked up the other, struggling to describe how he felt, let alone find what to say about it. Daisy hung her head.

“I wanted to ask you,” she continued, apologetic, “but I couldn’t compromise Jemma, and I didn’t want to make you lie to her again. Plus… I really wasn’t going to come back. I wasn’t sure if I could keep talking to you guys and not come back. And I was right.” 

“No, you weren’t.”

Fitz and Daisy simultaneously looked up, to where Jemma was standing in the doorway. Upon revealing herself, she entered the room, giving the punching bag only a passing glance before joining them by the bed. She passed Daisy a bottle of the pills. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Daisy prodded, raising an eyebrow. “I’m here because I ran into Fitz and Mack and then into you, and I’m an idiot with stupid human attachments who couldn’t stay away.” 

“If I recall correctly,” Jemma pointed out, “you actually saved Fitz and Mack. You realised we needed you. You realised that your catastrophic beliefs were incorrect and even though consciously you went on blaming yourself, you realised underneath it all that we’d be just as dead without you as not.” 

Daisy snorted. “I guarantee you that’s not what happened.” 

“Then why save us?” Jemma pressed. “Why stay?” 

“I _told_ you,” Daisy insisted.

_I need you._

She pulled away from Fitz, all her insecurities tumbling down on her at once as she was forced to remember what she’d never quite managed to make herself forget. Curled up against her headboard, hugging her knees and grimacing at the pull it created on her tendons, Daisy took a deep breath. Fitz and Simmons looked on in quiet confusion, radiating warmth and love and a whole bundle of tender emotions that were just too overwhelming for Daisy to bear right now.

“… Daisy?” Jemma ventured, as the silence stretched on. “Would you like us to leave?” 

Daisy shook her head, desperate and insistent. Anything but that. Anything but leave her alone, with her guilt and her pain, and the visions of Lincoln circling around and around in her head. 

“Can I come in there, then?” 

Squaring her jaw, Daisy nodded. With a great deal of care, Jemma crawled across her bed, and Fitz adjusted his position so that the two of them had their shoulders against hers, all three of them sitting across the top of her bed. It was a tight fit, but Daisy was surprised to find she could breathe easier.

“I talked to Elena, by the way,” Jemma explained, “and don’t worry, I’m not going to write her up. Aside from anything else, she actually covered it up quite well, and I wouldn’t have noticed if a certain other master thief hadn’t tipped her hand. You should let her know if you’re okay though. She didn’t know you’d kept taking it.” 

Daisy blinked back tears. Jemma’s sharp eye and the edge to her tone definitely told Daisy she was being scolded, but the hand resting gently on Daisy’s knee spoke to a deep level of concern Daisy had been trying for a long time now to believe nobody held for her. Everything she’d missed these last few months – every time she’d laughed and turned to tell a joke to empty air; every time she’d stitched herself up; every time she’d let her thoughts wander a little too far back home and then clamped her daydreams down in a hurry. Every time she’d wanted something and denied it – cramped together in this tiny bunk it suddenly felt like she had it all. 

“God,” she breathed tearfully. “I missed you guys so much.”

“Us too,” Fitz promised.

“Come here.” Jemma tentatively took Daisy’s hands, and Daisy laughed. 

“Wow, those things _are_ cold,” she remarked. “I forgot you’re secretly a Dementor.” 

“Oh, sorry, I’ll go get a heat pack-“

“No.” Daisy shook her head. “Feels nice.” 

She let her knees drop down so Jemma could get more comfortable, running her hands over the bruises to soothe her skin. 

“Sorry I lied,” Daisy added. “I guess I’m just used to looking out for myself.” 

“I know the feeling,” Jemma sympathised. 

“But you don’t have to do that anymore,” Fitz insisted. “And you don’t have to beat yourself up every day to deserve love, Daisy. The people who love you want you to thrive, not suffer – and you could fight better, anyway, if you’d let yourself recover.” 

“I know.” Daisy let her head drop to the side, leaning it against Fitz’s shoulder as she relaxed into the moment. He kissed her hair, and hummed to himself, sorry for her pain and guilt even though he was happy to have her back. Softly, Jemma passed bruise-soothing duty back over to him and budged her way out of the little cavern they’d created. 

“I’ll be back,” she promised. “I just want to get some fresh dressing for those. And an ice pack. And something to eat with calcium in it. Ooh, and perhaps some protein…”

Mumbling to herself, she darted back toward the door. Daisy rolled her eyes. 

“Is she ever going to stop?” 

“No,” Fitz replied, and smiled fondly. “I’d suggest you get used to it.”


	11. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post the-entire-S5-conundrum; Fitz prepares for a date night, but it turns out what the three of them need is just a little R&R. shameless fluff, cuddles and softness.
> 
> (vague spoilers for early S5, not specific to recent ep).

For the umpteenth time, Fitz patted his hair down, scowling at the mirror when it refused to take shape. He was hesitant to put product in it, unsure exactly what he was trying to ask, but the more attention he gave it, only seemed to make things worse. Once again, he wondered if he shouldn’t lean into the appearance of an unshaven lamb that it had apparently adopted, and dress down. Yes, that would be better. Dress natural.

Shrugging off the leather jacket for the third time that evening, Fitz pulled a mouse-grey cardigan over his shoulders. It wasn’t old exactly, but he’d been through a lot since he’d last worn it and it no longer sat quite right. He was too well-muscled for it now, which would have made him smile, were it not for the fact that he was going for a comfortable, soft approach. 

Or was he? 

“Damnit,” Fitz muttered to himself, and took a moment to check the time on his phone. He’d been switching back and forth for a good half-hour now, and was running late – bad form enough as it was. Perhaps he should just cut his losses and leave now. Then again, he looked like he’d just thrown this on. If he was going to be late, he should arrive in style. And maybe with an eternity rose. He had wooing to do.

No. Focus.

_Besides, where are you going to get a rose?_

Fitz whined, and closed his eyes. He pressed a thumb into the palm of his hand and pressed the joined, closed fist to his chest. His somewhat stunted dating life had not prepared him for this, but the only reason it was even happening was because not one but two stunning women, in mind body and soul, had seen the best and the worst of him and decided to keep him anyway. He wanted to impress them, sure, but there was no need to panic. 

“Okay, Fitz,” he murmured to himself. “What do we do?”

He walked back to his wardrobe and pulled it open, thinking of the advice the others would give him. Coulson, a man after his own soul, was a man of the classics, a blazer and button-up, and nice shoes. That might work for a dinner on the town though – not a stolen evening in with Daisy and Jemma. And Fitz wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what Coulson did with his nights in. In light of the casual nature of the evening, Mack would probably suggest something easy like a nice clean T-shirt, but the very thought of such a thing made Fitz scoff. The only ones he owned that weren’t ratty and permanently grease-stained were far too tight for him to wear on their own. He wasn’t nearly buff enough for that yet. 

Which left… Hunter. Who would probably congratulate him on his amazing game, much to the amusement of his dates, and who would almost definitely be an advocate for the leather jacket. He had to admit, it did look pretty badass. Maybe he was selling it short after all – then again, there was the matter of the bug brooch, which he hadn’t managed to take off yet because, well, that involved touching the bugs. 

Of course… he knew a little someone who would be very interested in touching his bugs. Probably while the other one laughed at how dirty that sounded; he’d have to remember his phrasing. 

Smirking to himself, enjoying it before stashing it away for a more deadpan, impromptu-style delivery later on, Fitz took the cardigan off and donned the leather jacket once again. It was supple and large enough to move; still comfortable, but strong at the same time. Daisy was right, it did flatter his more forward, rugged-dashing-hero side. And Jemma would be happy with her gross gift, and probably his unshaven-lamb hair. He quite liked that part too actually. In the midst of identity crisis after identity crisis, at least part of his old self was still in there somewhere.

His phone buzzed, and he bit his lip. Probably the girls. He was keeping them waiting.

_R u ok?_

Then a few seconds later 

_Quit shaving your legs and get over here._

He rolled his eyes and stuffed his phone in his pocket, bounding toward the doorway before he could second-guess again. Excitement for a well-deserved night off with some of his favourite people in the world was swiftly overtaking his nerves and by the time he got to the door of Daisy’s bunk, he couldn’t stop smiling. Laughter was coming from the other side of the door, which was a promising sign, and Daisy pulled it open with a smile on her face – 

And loose, linen pyjamas hanging off her shoulders. 

“Hey sailor,” she greeted. “Nice threads.”

Blushing, Fitz looked past her to Jemma, who was standing further back in the room in cotton shorts and an old T-shirt, a bottle of wine she’d been midway through pouring.

“I, uh, seem to be a bit overdressed,” Fitz observed, as Daisy let him into the room. A heap of blankets and pillows had been transformed into some sort of nest in front of the television, and a half-eaten bowl of nachos and a bottle of wine sat on the desk at the back of the room.

“I said ‘night in,’” Daisy pointed out. “What did you think I meant? Set up a fake restaurant in here? Have you _seen_ my room?” 

“Plus, we started without you,” Jemma added, approaching him with a glass of red and noticeably ogling his brooch. “So, you’re excused. And is that..?” 

“Oh. Yes. Enoch said they were, uh, genki or something?”

“Genku larvae? Really?” Jemma’s eyes lit up, and she all but dropped the wine in favour of pulling the badge off his pocket and taking it over to the bed to examine it more closely. 

Daisy slid closer to Fitz, both of them watching Jemma.

“Is that some kind of weird wedding gift I should know about, or...?” 

“No, they’re like – alien bugs or something,” Fitz explained. “Apparently the Marauders used them to show rank.” 

Jemma had gotten up again, and was ferreting around the desk, and the nachos, and the wine. Daisy screwed up her nose as Jemma picked up an empty bowl and dropped the brooch into it.

“No, we eat out of that!” she whined. “Jemma, I swear to god, if you get alien bug eggs in my bed- “ 

“Do you have a set of tweezers around?” Jemma asked, because there was no obvious toiletries section in her admittedly slovenly room. But she did of course, have tweezers - over by her deodorant, on the bookshelf, obviously. She blinked wordlessly as Jemma’s sniffer-dog prying seemed to lead her right to them. Still, neither Daisy nor Fitz could object as Jemma sat cross-legged on the bedsheets with the bowl in her lap, and opened the cap off a bottle of water and poured it in. She beamed to herself at whatever the little silver creatures started doing, and Daisy and Fitz shared a glance. Neither had planned on alien bugs as part of their long-awaited date night, but they were hardly going to begrudge Jemma this. Not to mention, she looked adorable.

“What do you know about genku larvae, Jemma?” Fitz inquired, and took a sip of his wine, more inviting her to share than for his own curiosity. As Daisy went to fetch the nachos she rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his proud and doting expression, though she too relished the excited ramble that spilled from Jemma’s lips at the invitation. With a surprising amount of energy and knowledge, she recounted what she knew of the species’ discovery, origins and habitat as Daisy leant back into Fitz, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, glad to have her close and safe and no longer so anguished. They passed the nachos back and forth between them, listening in and out to Jemma’s story.

Daisy’s body gradually collapsed into Fitz’s arms, heavy and tired and not fully recovered from all it had been through. Jemma trailed off, smiling fondly as Fitz scooped Daisy up and delivered her to the bed. 

“My hero,” Daisy murmured, smirking drowsily up at him as he laid her out. She tugged on the lapel of his jacket, to let him know she had not missed the fact that he’d taken note of her appreciation for it. Fitz snorted. 

“Oh, please. I wish,” he assured her, and kissed her on the forehead. She let her eyes droop closed, and he settled in for the long haul and found his body surprisingly eager to sink into the bed. He also would later blame the fatigue for the fact that when Jemma showed him her little bowl of strange silver tadpole-like creatures, he remarked: “They’re sort of cute, I guess.” 

“I think they’re beautiful,” Jemma insisted. “Thank you, Fitz.”

He waved her off. “Hey, any bug brooch of mine is a bug brooch of yours. That’s the deal, right?” 

Jemma pressed her lips together, hardly able to contain the smile. 

“Right,” she said, and let it spread across her face, for there was no reason to hide it anymore. She leaned across the space between them, over Daisy, and met Fitz’s lips for a kiss. It felt like it’d been years since the last one. 

“’m not asleep!” Daisy warned them suddenly, batting them apart. “Watching an important movie.” 

Her eyes were barely open, by any stretch of the imagination, but Fitz and Jemma only smiled at the interruption. Silently, Jemma made a pantomime show – for Fitz’s benefit - of picking up and dropping onto the floor the clothes and junk from Daisy’s nightstand so she could rest the genku bowl there, to be dealt with in the morning. Then, safe from the possibility of alien bug-tadpoles spilling onto them in the night, she and Fitz settled down into the blankets and cuddled closer together with Daisy, picking nachos slowly from the bowl she was still cradling in her lap. The movie they’d been watching warbled on, fading into white noise as, together, they drifted off to sleep.


	12. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons patching up an upset Daisy after pulling her out of the gladiator arena and telling her that even though they want to get married it doesn’t take her out of the equation - evolved into FSK + conversations about marriage. Surprisingly fluffy! though (very mild) references to injury in the 4x06 section. Enjoy x

“Okay, you guys, no offense but if either one of you gets any ideas to propose without at least a full minute of choreography, the answer’s no.” Beaming, Daisy held her phone up above all their heads and they watched the end of another Big Ask video. “Although – writing your own lyrics is optional.”

“Good, because I don’t – I don’t think I’d be very good at that,” Fitz remarked. Daisy and Jemma snorted in unison and Daisy dropped her phone back to her chest to turn her head, facing him as best she could as the three of them lay together.

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “Please, you can’t help it. You could write a whole song from scratch with your eyes closed. If you actually knew anything about music. Unless, I mean – do you?” 

“No?? I was a bit busy getting my PhD by the age of fifteen thank you very much,” Fitz retorted defensively. “But I also don’t think I’d like one of those big, flashy, public proposals. It’s too much pressure. I’d go for something classic; a nice dinner, a walk somewhere private, that sort of thing.”

“Ring in the champagne?” 

“Oh, Lord no.” Jemma screwed up her nose. “Rings are nasty with germs and dead skin cells and things. I certainly wouldn’t be drinking that glass.” 

“No, well, but hopefully you wouldn’t be drinking it because you’re so totally flawed by my amazing idea,” Fitz objected. “Stop making me think of dead skin while I’m trying to propose.” 

“I quite like the flashy proposal, myself,” Jemma continued without heed to his squeamishness. “I mean, I don’t believe it should be the _first_ conversation about marriage a relationship should have, but if you’re on the same page with things then you should essentially have the yes before you do the dance anyway. Then the dance itself, you make it special, individual, you put a lot of effort in. And you announce to the world that this is your person, your people. And after all, isn’t that what marriage is all about?” 

“Mmm.” Daisy hummed, and it sounded hesitant. Fitz and Jemma frowned.

“You don’t like marriage?” Fitz guessed. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Daisy replied. “I mean… I like the idea of it. I like what Jem just said about commitment and all that. I just – I don’t know, _marriage._ It’s a lot, you know? A wedding sounds like fun. Marriage sounds like…” 

“A bargain struck between men to move their women around like chattel?” Jemma put in.

“Sort of, I guess, yeah.” Daisy squirmed. “I mean that’s where it comes from but that’s not really it. I guess I’d feel trapped? Not trapped. Uh. I don’t know how to big-words-ify it.”

“Intellectualise,” Jemma corrected. 

“Yeah. That.” 

“I’ll take a stab,” Fitz offered. “You grew up surrounded by dysfunctional families in a messed up system based on formalized definitions and their failures. Basing ideas like love and connection on the same kind of system feels disconnected, if not downright scary. Plus, marriage is a heteropatriarchal amatonormative monogamous institution and you’re a bi poly anarchist down to your bones.” 

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Daisy snorted. “Plus, I mean, isn’t that what lots of people say? ‘I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me I’m in love with you’?” 

“I’d quite like one,” Jemma disagreed. “I’d hang it in my office so that everyone would know.” 

“Although, Jemma Fitz-Simmons-Johnson is going to need a pretty big nameplate,” Fitz pointed out. 

“Who says that’d be my name?”

“Well you’re hardly going to take mine, are you? But you wouldn’t make me or Daisy take yours without it being equal, so…” 

“Hang on a sec guys,” Daisy interrupted, “I just wanna be clear, just... just in case. I don’t want to get married. You can, if you want, I’m not sure how that works, but – for serious, I don’t want it for myself, okay?” 

“Okay,” Fitz and Jemma both agreed, and shuffled closer to Daisy in case she was feeling uncomfortable. She was, to be honest, but she quickly shook it off. 

"Now, back to planning FitzSimmons’ Big Day.” She held up her phone again and started googling. “Now, would the happy couple prefer a horse and carriage, or a hot air balloon ride?” 

- 

Despite their brush with sincerity, the conversation about proposals and marriage was, in all honesty, one born of abstraction and jokes. It wasn’t for some time afterward that any of them put any wheels into motion, and as it turned out, none of those wheels ended up worth a damn anyway. In the end, every carefully parsed decision flew out the window of a diner 74 years in the past. In the end, the words just slipped out.

“Marry me, Fitz.”

Jemma's heart was beating hard, her head spinning. Fitz’s arms held her up, flush against him on the tiny little box, and even though they were in the middle of running for their lives, Jemma couldn’t help but feel safe. She lavished the feeling of him warm and solid and heroic and here. And _him._ It felt like months since she’d seen his face, his real face, and since he’d held her in his arms. He’d been so shaken, last she’d seen him, it was nice to see the colour in his cheeks again, and his chin held high. Yet, she knew how quickly it could all be ripped away and maybe that’s why they slipped out. 

_Marry me._

And all he said was, _Absolutely._ With such conviction it was as if his life’s singular purpose had led him to this moment. As if he was completely prepared to stare into his lover’s eyes in an alien gladiator ring in the ruins of Earth, decades beyond their deaths and the end of the world, and promise her his everything. Of course, he shortly began insisting that he had been preparing for exactly that and had in fact beaten her to the proposal in the first place. Even as they carried Daisy out of the arena as best they could, they were already bickering – like, one might say, an old married couple. 

Jemma led them to a vacant room and began rummaging about for medical supplies, and Fitz help a slightly delirious Daisy down onto the bed. He sat beside her and stroked her hair out of her face, and out of a bloody cut on her forehead. 

“Don’t mind me,” Daisy grumbled, albeit with a fond smile. “Casually dying over here, but it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Fitz apologised earnestly. “You know Jemma. Emotional, that one. Well known for grand gestures and getting caught up in the moment.” 

Daisy snorted. Fitz’s eyes glistened with tears of joy as he snuck another glance over to where Jemma was working, sterilizing something. He’d never imagined she’d be the one to pull him in by the lapels for a kiss, in the middle of a gunfight. It made his cheeks feel hot just thinking about it. 

“You’re really gonna do it, huh?” Daisy wondered, prodding him with a poorly aimed finger. His eyes dropped back down to her. “Marry Jemma.” 

“Absolutely,” he said again. “And you know, I would you as well, if it’s something you wanted. I mean – unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes, of course we wouldn’t want to leave you out, Daisy,” Jemma assured her, bringing the tray of supplies over. “Sit up? Fitz, fix her pillows, thank you. But if we were operating on old assumptions, then, I apologise. I haven’t a song and dance prepared.” 

Daisy chuckled. “’S’ okay. Talking like an old-timey princess is enough for me. You’re cute when you’re being funny.” 

“Well, that’s good to know,” Jemma agreed with a smile, and shone a light into Daisy’s eyes. She pressed her lips together. “And you’re a surprisingly good patient when you’re concussed.”

Daisy made an expression that suggested – in her head at least – she was giving a nonchalant shrug. “Consider it a wedding present.” 

“So you won’t be joining us, then?” Jemma checked, running her hands over Daisy’s limbs with practiced ease. 

“Oh, yes I will.”

Jemma frowned, and looked at Fitz. He frowned back. Perhaps they should wait for Daisy to sober up before they made sense of this conversation. Then again, Daisy laughed, apparently entertained by their confusion. 

“Come on!” she cried. “Dope dresses and cake tastings?! I’m an anarchist, ‘n my head hurts, but I’m not a rock. Do I not bleed?” 

Jemma grimaced. “Yes, you certainly do. And you break bones, so you’re lucky you didn’t shatter both your tibias just now.”  
  
“You don’t have to tell me.” Daisy grimaced, and sighed heavily, leaning back into the pillows. Fitz squeezed her hand and she lamented - “But damn, it looked wicked for a second there, didn’t it?”


	13. Fluff (x3)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Daisy keeps falling asleep on FitzSimmons so they can't move."  
> Three fluffy drabbles for the price of one, because it's What She Deserves(TM). Rated G.

One of the things FitzSimmons admired most about their mutual girlfriend was her tenacity. It was an inspirational quality that each of them had taken quite to heart – and, not to mention, it was probably a large part of the reason they had ended up together in the first place – but the downside of it was that burning the candle at both ends left Daisy very tired, at very inconvenient times. 

Take for example this particular Monday. 

Jemma woke with a start when her alarm began to chirp; usually, she beat its rise, but tonight she was tired too, and had been lulled into a particularly deep sleep. She was not unaccustomed to waking up with the weight of the others crushing her chest – somehow she’d simply learnt to breathe through it – but with Daisy sprawled across her like this she had no chance of turning that damned alarm off, let alone getting up. She could barely even reach her glass of water, stuck fumbling across the bedside table without being able to lift her head high enough to look. 

For a moment, Jemma thought she might as well just give up and bask in the extra warmth and the excuse to lie in. But her phone continued to chirp and buzz on the desk across the other side of the room, her mouth was dry, her chest was starting to hurt, and Daisy was unresponsive to her prods and pleading whispers. She was cute though, don’t get Jemma wrong; she was like a sleeping cat – and besides, it was a rare moment she got to treasure like this – but said moments were rare for a reason. Aside from anything else, Jemma had to get to a conference this morning. And Daisy could _sleep._ It was time to call in reinforcements. Somehow. 

Jemma patted her hand across the bedside table again. Book. Bottle of medication. Glass of water. Wrapper of something. Phone – Daisy’s phone. 

“Yes!” 

Lifting the phone as high as she could manage and arching her back to try and look over Daisy’s head, she tapped out a text and sent it. It wasn’t long before Fitz appeared in the doorway – looking worried for a moment, and then, calm and adoring. He smiled sympathetically at Jemma as he approached. 

“Okay, how are we going to do this?” he asked. “I’d throw the water on her but… I just can’t. Look at her, Jemma.” 

“I know,” Jemma agreed. “And I’ve tried waking her and I’ve tried rolling her off me, but you know how she is. I wouldn’t even mind, but I’ve got a conference…” 

“Okay, okay.” Fitz took a deep breath. “I have one more idea. One that won’t mean waking her up.” 

Jemma gasped theatrically. “No, Fitz, you can’t!”

“It’s too late Jemma. I’m coming in.” 

With a moment to mock-salute, Fitz dove into the covers and took up the space in the bed that Daisy had left free by sleeping on top of Jemma. Carefully, between the two of them, they rolled and lifted Daisy’s sleeping form until she had been transplanted onto Fitz’s chest instead. She curled up contentedly, and Fitz didn’t argue when she elbowed him in the gut to resettle. 

Jemma extricated herself from the tumble of limbs and reached across the bed back to Fitz. One of his arms was trapped and the other couldn’t reach her across the whole bed, but their fingertips hovered inches apart. 

“I’ll never forget you!” Jemma cried, her chest heaving like a damsel in an old film. 

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Fitz promised. “Go on without me!” 

Jemma carried on the act with a grin as she swept herself away to collect her clothes and head to the showers. In truth it was hard to pull herself away from the thought of a quiet morning in spent with her lovers, so the ridiculous over-dramatisation actually did help a little, even in its bitter-sweetness hitting close to home.

When she was gone, Fitz turned his attention back to Daisy, and stroked her hair gently. She was so animated and full of character even when she was asleep. Or – not so asleep.  
  
She smirked against his chest, without opening her eyes. “You two nerds are so dramatic.” 

“It’s why you love us.” 

“You’re not wrong.”

Fitz kissed the top of Daisy’s head and she fell silent again, for a long while, letting the steady rise and fall of Fitz’s breathing and the warmth of his hand on her back lull her back to sleep. 

-

There was another time, on the Quinjet, after a messy but unfortunately, not all that unusual mission. Daisy had exhausted her body, her powers, and her emotions, and had cried on Fitz’s shoulder until she’d fallen asleep in his lap. He had worked the straps and belts as much as he could to protect her, but most of all he just made sure to wrap her firmly in his arms. (And, after the day they’d just had, he was a little too proud of this fact – he had no doubt Jemma would have poked fun at him and his peacock expression had she not been busy in the medbay helping patch a few people up. Perhaps he’d tell her about it later. It would make her smile.) 

For now though, Fitz was content to embrace the opportunity to protect one who often resisted the notion of being protected. It was an honour to cradle Daisy’s vulnerability in his arms, and not one he took lightly. Fortunately, it seemed that the cosmos shared this sense of protectiveness – as did May at the wheel, guiding them, and everybody else on the plane, who mercifully chose to leave Daisy undisturbed and to solve their problems amongst themselves instead. The journey passed without turbulence, except for a couple of jolts from Daisy’s fitful sleep. It was only once they docked on the Zephyr that Fitz realised they’d have a problem. 

More specifically, it was when Jemma came up from the medbay and caught sight of them both, and smiled.

“All’s well here then?” she checked. 

“Nothing a little tea and some comforting films won’t fix,” Fitz promised. “Unless you count the fact that somebody’s going to have to chop off my leg. Haven’t felt it for a few hours now. It seems Daisy and I have fused into one being. You’re going to have to cart us around on a stretcher for the rest of our days. Or at least, until Daisy sleeps this off.” 

“Or,” Jemma countered. “I could leave you here with her, to wait like the gentleman you are, until she wakes of her own accord, and your stomach can simply wait its turn.” 

Fitz gasped, scandalized. “Jemma. If my stomach has to wait much longer it’s going to eat Daisy. I’m warning you now. Also, the leg. Seriously. Now that I’m thinking about it it’s started feeling things again and that thing is the thing where _it’s on fire._ ” 

“Noble sacrifices, my love,” Jemma reminded him, leaning over Daisy to steal a kiss from him. “I’d take over, but I have to shower. I’ll help you wake her up?” 

“No, leave her,” Fitz agreed. “But, uh, maybe bring us up a sandwich when you get a chance? Ooh, and some crisps. And some of those – Little Debbie things.” 

Jemma’s sweet smile turned into a sardonic expression, eyebrow raised. 

“What?” Fitz suggested, looking as innocent as possible. “Not for me, they’re for Daisy. She specifically asked for them. Just before she drifted off. You weren’t here but it’s true, I swear.”  
  
He heard a sound from Daisy, and covered her face with her hair and then her hair with his hand, in case she gave him away. Jemma’s eyes shifted between them skeptically, and she eventually agreed.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said. “ _Both_ of you. I’ll be back.” 

“Thanks, babe!” Fitz called after her as she left. It seemed like something Daisy would say.

-

“Come on babes,” Jemma beckoned, elbowing Daisy. “May texted. The shuttle’s leaving. If we don’t go now we’re going to miss the film.” 

Daisy curled up: perfectly content just where she was. Perfectly content to never open her eyes again, to just listen to the voices and the breaths of Fitz and Simmons, who cradled her as she hovered on the edge of sleep. Deep voices of something dramatic on Neflix warbled in the background, and she could feel the pipes humming all around them pumping water and air as if the base were a body. It was loud, too loud for some, but it was familiar. It was alive. It was Fitz’s hand absently stroking the short hair at the nape of her neck. It was Jemma’s hand resting tenderly on her thigh, even as her other hand tried to prod Daisy awake. Even as sleep eluded her, this was rest. It was home. 

Fitz hummed, and Daisy felt the rumble of it in his chest.

“Maybe we should let her be,” he suggested. “We can catch it next time.” 

“She’s the one who wanted to see it,” Jemma reminded him, “and our next R&R roster, such as it is, all together isn’t for weeks.” 

“Then maybe we should do what R&R was invented for. Rest and relaxation.”

“It’s recreation, Fitz. Rest and recreation.” 

“I am recreating!” Fitz insisted. “It’s not our fault you get your jollies from a full schedule. Me, I’d be happy to just sleep all weekend.” 

“No, you wouldn’t.” 

“I would, if it meant I got to spend it with you.” 

Daisy smiled. She could picture the look Jemma was giving Fitz right now; a fond sort of irritation at her sappy romantic man. Then, ever the planner, Jemma returned her attention to the problem at hand. She and Fitz settled into a familiar rhythm of banter as they tossed dinner options back and forth between them. Their voices lulled Daisy, until she eventually lost track of the argument, then the words, and then even consciousness itself; asleep at last in the arms of her loves.


	14. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: paraphrased - "You and I were innocently making out but then I got aroused and so did you but we knew Person C would be home any minute so we decided to wait at which point they walked through the door, took one look at us and started taking off their shirt."
> 
> Skimmons + Fitz. Slightly smutty (making out), but it's fluff. Rated hard T. Once again I'd like to thank Lesbian Jesus aka Hayley Kiyoko for the inspiration *cough*. The song I refer to is Curious and the vid is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXTzMOmmEfE). Anyway, enjoy! For those who are interested I am also hoping to have some full-on FSK smut coming soon (obligatory *ba tum tsh*) but for those who prefer their fades-to-black, this is the fic for you.

Daisy dropped her keys in the bowl by the door and pulled her earphones out, intrigued by the sounds coming from further inside the apartment. Jemma had been home all day, but she had been nestled up on the couch with some printouts and a highlighter when Daisy had left for her run, and this sounded like something much more interesting. The palate of music had changed, first of all, from Daisy’s heavy-beat workout music to a more lightly stepping indie-pop style. And the smells – something smelled good.

“Hey, I’m home,” Daisy announced, closing the door behind her and moving toward the sound. Unsurprisingly, thanks to the smell, it was coming from the kitchen: cupboards and drawers, pots and pans. Daisy grinned as she leaned over the bench, watching Jemma set up. “Ooh, are we planning something special?” 

“Just bolognaise,” Jemma replied. 

“Can I help?” Daisy asked.

“Don’t you want a shower?”

Daisy scoffed, but sniffed her shoulder just in case. It had only been a light run, so while she had a slight sheen of sweat, she could spare the time, especially considering they didn’t get a lot together these days. Decision made, Jemma welcomed her into the kitchen, gleefully circling her as she moved first to the phone charger and then to the sink, to wash her hands. 

“I thought we’d try turkey mince,” Jemma suggested while orbiting. “It’s defrosting by the stove. Onions are already cut. Carrots and zucchini are waiting.”

“Zucchini me up,” Daisy offered, taking a knife and embracing her task, moving quickly and easily through the vegetables. Jemma was monitoring the pot of spaghetti. Every now and then they bopped and bobbed to the music, as they passed banter about their days, and sometimes they even sang along. 

“- hang on, is this-“ Daisy frowned as a song came on which she mostly didn’t recognise, but somehow almost did. 

“Hayley, yeah,” Jemma pointed out. “It’s from her new album.” 

“Her new album called ‘how many women can I seductively drape over myself at one time?’” Daisy wondered, taking a peek at the music video. She nodded appreciatively. “Damn. No offence but homegirl is living the dream right there.” 

“It’s actually quite clever,” Jemma retorted stubbornly. “I’ve been trying to teach myself the dance.” 

“The dance?” 

Daisy frowned at Jemma. Jemma gestured back to the video just as the chorus launched, and complicated series of dance steps began. Of course, Daisy was impressed, and of course this launched into a challenge, rewinding and replaying and analysing the dance between steps of making the meal. The two of them greatly enjoyed the chance for not-strictly-necessary physical contact, but most of all, having a laugh at themselves and each other. 

“Oh my God, you’re so British,” Daisy snorted, painfully endeared by Jemma’s prim little dance – so restrained in comparison to the video. “It’s more like this.” 

_If you let him touch ya touch ya touch ya touch ya – yeah  
The way I used ta used ta used ta used ta_

Daisy launched into a loose-limbed imitation of the dance, dragging herself through the air as if in slow motion on each sighed _yeah,_ in time with the music, and while she was not quite the dancer as Hayley Kiyoko she managed the attitude – confident, carefree. A little bit of a showoff. Jemma blushed. 

“Ah, stop it, I get it!” she insisted, feigning anguish as her cheeks grew hot. “I’m climbing the Kinsey scale as we speak.”

“Wanna climb something else instead?”

Admittedly, not the smoothest as far as pickup lines go, but that hardly mattered as their bodies crashed together. Daisy spun Jemma around and lifted her onto the bench, shoving vegetable peelings and the empty chopping board out of the way.

That was how it started: enthusiastic but innocent. Then Daisy tasted the pasta sauce on Jemma’s lips, and Jemma the sweat on Daisy’s; just enough to ponder her strength, her exertion. Daisy’s hand climbed under Jemma’s shirt – a soft, pink cotton pyjama shirt. Jemma’s laughing, writhing body felt good under her fingertips. Daisy’s fingers felt good on her skin. Heat, tingles crept over her belly and the back of her neck and she moaned. Instinctively, Daisy chased the sound with kisses and Jemma threw her head back, eager to let Daisy and the heat in her wake cover her neck and her chest and – 

“Daisy,” she moaned, because there was no other way to speak like this.

“Mm, yeah,” Daisy moaned back, as close to the bench as she could stand to be, her hips drawn to Jemma’s like so many magnets.

“No-“ Jemma gasped – “Daisy!” 

Daisy turned to look where Jemma was pointing, to where the spaghetti was boiling over. Cursing, she ran to switch the stove off and disperse the steam before the smoke alarm could have a conniption. From a few feet away, she felt the flush in her skin and the swell of her lips and the yearning at seeing Jemma’s disheveled pyjamas for what it was: unadulterated desire. Her voice, though a little hesitant, was gravelly with arousal when she asked – 

“What time is Fitz getting home?” 

“Any minute.” 

“Should we wait?” 

The sound of a key in the door was like music to their hearts. It could only be one person, and that was the person who could make their decision for them right here and now.

“Oh hey!” Fitz called from the entry, dropping his bag on the way to the bench. “Smells-“

The words fell from his lips when he saw them. Their mussed hair and clothes. The swell of their lips. Not to mention, the carrot and zucchini peelings and even a peeler that had somehow been let fall to the floor. The signs were obvious – even without the young woman in lingerie draped in more young women in lingerie on the screen in the corner. Even without their moony eyes, begging him to agree to postpone dinner to satisfy a very different kind of hunger.

“Oh, all _right,_ ” Fitz sighed dramatically – as if it were a chore, being loved by these endlessly stunning and inexhaustible women. “But one of you is going to have to help me with this thing.” 

Smiling rakishly, Fitz hooked a finger around the knot of his tie, already working it undone as Jemma and Daisy swarmed toward him. He retreated toward the bedroom, drinking in the girls’ energy until all three of them were buzzing with excitement, and they collapsed in a heap and a flurry of kisses, keen for the next level of fun to begin.


	15. Hurt/Comfort/Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FSK where one of them doesn't like sub/Dom scenarios and the others are worried about them feeling "left out" but they talk about it and the third doesn't mind.
> 
> Mild angst with happy ending, fluff/humour, with light sexual references (but no sexual or D/s content). FitzSkimmons, ft. a little bit of long-suffering friend Mack.

These days, it was hard to tell who was going to be the first one up. Jemma was a natural early riser, and loved precious few things more than taking a quiet moment to embrace the small beauties of life before reality brought stress, responsibility, and everything else crashing in. It was not every day she had the luxury to enjoy the morning of her dreams, but when she could, she’d take it. Daisy, meanwhile, had learnt to wake early as part of a disciplined routine. When she was not busy with all manner of missions, Daisy usually went for a run or to the gym before breakfast, to keep her form and clear her mind for the day ahead. Fitz, well… Fitz was not an early riser. He was almost never out of bed before the girls, and even for those few exceptions, it usually meant that something was wrong.

Like today.

“Have you seen Fitz this morning?” Jemma wondered, tipping protein powder into Daisy’s smoothie and passing it across to her.

“No,” Daisy replied, frowning as she shook her head. “He was gone when I got up. Probably just a bad dream though, right? It’s not like there aren’t enough of those to go ‘round.” 

“Mmm.” Jemma wanted to agree, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Or he could be avoiding us.” 

“You really think so?” Daisy pressed, though the thought had already crossed her mind too. “Do you think he wants time, or should we go and find him?” 

Of course, never one to let a problem sit, Jemma pressed a lid onto Daisy’s smoothie and led her out of the kitchen.

- 

Fortunately, Fitz was not too hard to track down. He was polishing some gaskets in the garage, perfectly comfortably, until he saw the girls and colour rushed into his cheeks. 

“Uh oh,” Mack quipped, flashing him a mocking grin. “I’ll give you three the room?” 

He slipped away, leaving Fitz to face his girlfriends with his hands full and a tongue that had conveniently forgotten how to cooperate with his brain. Fortunately though, the girls didn’t seem as angry or offended as he’d got it into his head they’d be; rather, they appeared quite genuinely concerned. He relaxed a little. But only a little. He hadn’t meant to make a big deal out of it. 

“Watcha doin’?” Daisy asked. 

“Working,” Fitz replied, gesturing with the gaskets. He still had one in each hand. Way to be chill and normal, Fitz. 

“Is everything okay?” Jemma asked. “With us?”

“Uh.” Fitz frowned, unsure how to answer that, but his hesitation told Daisy and Jemma they were right. 

“Is it about last night?” 

At that, Fitz felt a weight lift off his chest. As reluctant as he was to confess it, he was glad to get it done quickly. 

“Yes.” The word almost leapt off his tongue and he rushed to clarify – “I’m not mad, or hurt, or anything. I just…” 

“… didn’t have as much fun as we did?” Daisy paraphrased. Fitz hung his head a little, abashed, and shrugged. 

“I dunno. I’m glad I tried it but I- I guess I’m just not cut out for that sort of thing.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Jemma reassured him. “We just won’t do it anymore. We’re glad you tried it too, Fitz, but it’s okay not to like things. Everyone has different tastes and boundaries. You shouldn’t have to compromise yours, just like you wouldn’t expect either of us to compromise ours, right?” 

“Right.” Fitz sighed, undeniably relieved. “But, um – don’t stop on my account, okay? If you want to mess around on your own time I won’t stop you, and I won’t make it weird, I promise. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Daisy agreed. “I mean, isn’t that one of the advantages of having all three of us in this together? We can be more flexible?”

Jemma bit her lip. Fitz snorted. Daisy raised her eyebrows, and put her hands on her hips in as much of a pantomime-scold as she could muster. 

“Were you just about to make a comment about how flexible I am?” she demanded.  
  
“… No?” Jemma lied. 

“Well,” Fitz had to admit, “at least _that’s_ something we can all enjoy.”

He cast the gaskets aside, prepared to scoop one or both of the girls up for a kiss, but Mack chose this moment to re-enter the room. Coughing loudly, he formed a T-shaped ‘timeout’ motion with his hands.

“Alright, alright, nobody’s ‘enjoying’ anything in my garage,” he ordered. “Break it up or move it out, folks.” 

Daisy rolled her eyes at Mack’s stern expression and, making a point to keep her hips as far away as she could from Fitz’s, so that it was as chaste as possible, she gave him a peck on the lips. “I’ve gotta get back to May.”

“And I have a Health Directorate report with my name on it,” Jemma said, and pouted. Begrudgingly, Mack waved a hand, allowing them a chaste kiss too. 

“I’ve got to build a motorcycle that can fly,” Fitz told them. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Ooh, greaser Fitz,” Daisy purred. “I might have to find my way back here for that.”

“May might have to find some extra burpees for you this morning,” Mack suggested, herding both her and Jemma toward the door. “Let the man work!”

“Oh, we will.” A glint of mischief in her eye, Jemma winked at Fitz before scampering away to her own responsibilities. Fitz rolled his eyes at Mack’s fond smile, and agreed – 

“They’re incorrigible.” 

But when he caught his own reflection in the glass of the supply cabinet door behind them, he began to get some incorrigible ideas of his own. The push-ups had been paying off, after all, and what was the point of having biceps if not to flex them? 

(Behind him, Mack sighed a long-suffering sigh. Fitz rolled his eyes and got back to work.)


	16. Canon Compat. Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I can't breathe."  
> Inspired by that time Skye actually did say "I can't breathe" in FZZT... and by 50000 ideas I have for post-5x22 fics. Obviously, contains spoilers for 5x22. Threat of & major occurrence of MCD (off screen). Rated T.

“I can’t breathe,” Skye choked.

Tears filled her lungs, filled her throat. Her body trembled. She could hardly believe she was here. After all that she’d been through in her life, she’d been scared before, she’d been horrified before, but she’d never been confronted with the possibility of watching somebody die. She’d never had to stand behind the glass and watch her friends scramble for every thread of life. 

She’d never had to watch them give up. 

Grateful for May’s arms around her shoulders, Skye staggered away. It was not as though she could do much good here anyway, and she didn’t want to stay; not least because FitzSimmons had been a unit for almost half their lives at this point. She could not bring herself to intrude upon their last moments, especially not just to stare; just to stand on the other side of the glass and wait in misery. Maybe, maybe if she’d had one more chance to throw her arms around Jemma and tell her it was all going to be okay, then she might give it a shot, but not like this. Not just for waiting.

She curled up on her bed, hugging her knees, counting the seconds. She wrapped herself up in an old cardigan she’d stolen from Fitz; a shallow comfort compared to his grounding embrace, but better than nothing as May and Coulson and everyone else rushed off to solve problems, while she waited. She knew nothing about what was going on; she had no power within Shield to get them help, she had no scientific knowledge to speak of to pitch in with the miracle cure. Even if she did, she doubted she could use it; her mind was full of static, grey and mourning and terrified and useless. She had nothing but waiting, and trying her best to keep the little flicker of hope alive in her chest, all but praying that her favourite geniuses in the world would pull through. 

Her eyes wandered to an old, well-worn copy of _The Life and Times of Peggy Carter_ that Jemma had left behind. She picked it up. Stroked its cover. Waited. 

-

“I can’t _breathe,”_ Fitz groaned, folding over on himself to try and inhale air that didn’t feel like concrete in his lungs. His hands shook, and behind his eyes the image of Jemma being dragged away replayed itself again and again.

“What happened?” Daisy asked, running to him and wrapping her arms around him, squeezing his shoulder and grounding herself as much as him. 

“It- it took her. The monolith, it took Jemma.”

He waved at it, and Daisy glared at it over his shoulder. It stood as stubborn and steadfast as always; a rock like any other. Only of course, it was not like any other. It had taken Jemma, it could wake up and take either of them at any moment too. Daisy pulled Fitz a few steps back from it.

“Come here, come here,” she beckoned, and together they slumped to the ground with their backs against the wall. She held his shaking hands, always the last part of him to calm down. To be honest her hands were shaking a little too. Her mind spun and she waded through the possibilities like a stormy sea. 

“Start from the beginning,” she suggested. “What do we know?” 

Fitz did his best to piece it together, and Daisy did her best to fill in his gaps. In the end, what they had wasn’t much, but at least it was a place to start. At least it was better than waiting.

(But of course, in the months that followed, there was plenty of that too.) 

-

Jemma had always thought the waiting would be the worst part. The not knowing. All the times she’d been separated from the others, or watched them endure trial after trial, or struggled through her own – every time, the waiting had been the worst part.

Now, she realised, that’s because the knowing had never been like this before. 

Every other time had ended in relief. Love. Forgiveness. Had ended in running down the hallway together, breathless; squeezing life into each other by the power of sheer will. Every other time, they’d come through it. 

There’d never been a body before. 

She’d never had to look into Fitz’s eyes and see the glassy stare of death. She’d seen unspeakable pain, confusion, anger, love. She’d seen a coldness there that had chilled her to the bone. But never this. Never death.

Behind her, the door creaked open. Daisy softly crossed the floor. 

“How’re you doing?” she asked: softly, solemnly. She put a hand on Jemma’s shoulder and Jemma turned into it, folding into her embrace. 

“I can’t breathe,” she whispered quietly. 

“I know.” 

It was not as reassuring as it could have been, but Daisy wrapped her arms tighter around Jemma anyway. Her own eyes filled with tears as she stared at Fitz’s body laid out on the table before them, and eventually she had to look away and bury her face in Jemma’s hair instead. She’d always hated waiting, but in that moment, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t have given to have something left worth waiting for.


	17. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: for mcubingo "FitzSkimmons >> musical" square, + @buskidsburgade who prompted (paraphrased) "FitzSkimmons have the base to themselves, and Jemma reveals a talent for piano."
> 
> I'm still accepting other prompts (here or @theclaravoyant on tumblr), but am prioritising those that will help me fill my [bingo squares](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/post/174958815476/prompt-me-mcubingo-edition)(note: some are nsfw).
> 
> Rated G. Shameless fluff. Enjoy!

“Whatever shall we do?” Jemma wondered. 

“Not Scrabble,” Daisy put in. “I’m tired of getting my ass kicked.” 

“Well, not video games,” Jemma objected, before Daisy could suggest it. Fitz elbowed her and added – 

“Jemma’s tired of getting _her_ ass kicked.” 

Daisy snorted, but continued to scowl at the limited collection of board games and the like they had on base. They had the classics like _Cluedo_ and _Risk_ and _Monopoly,_ as well as some that she’d never heard of. ( _Squatter? Stratego?_ What the hell were they?) But somehow, none of them seemed interesting. She was restless, and would have loved nothing more than to run to a park and kick a ball around, but alas. 

“Well, we can’t leave the place unguarded,” she reminded Fitz and Simmons. “We’re the only seniors left.” 

“Maybe pool?” Fitz suggested. 

“Oh, yes, you have a pool table now?” Jemma’s eyes lit up. “I haven’t really seen the new rec room since I got – you know, _back._ Now would be the perfect opportunity to take advantage.” 

“Also the perfect opportunity for margaritas, if nobody else objects,” Daisy put in. 

“Hear, hear,” Fitz agreed. 

The rec room had its own miniature kitchen, and Daisy took great pleasure in compiling a jug of the cocktail for the three of them to share. They may not be able to leave the base, but they were as off-duty as they could be in such a situation and, if nothing else, she was dying for a kick of limey freshness after spending so long in the stale air of the base.

Meanwhile, Fitz checked cues and chalk and set the balls in their triangle, while Jemma wandered a circle around the table, twirling her cue absently as she perused the new fittings. There was the pool table, of course, and another lounge and television – this one accompanied by DVDs rather than an X-box, and a box of old VHS tapes in the corner. There was a new bookshelf filled half with classics and half with what appeared to be language dictionaries and tools. She’d have to make a note of that. And then there was… 

“What’s this?” 

She stepped up to it, brushed her fingers along the front. Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t seen a piano in so long, it was almost unreal. She lifted the lid that covered the keys and pressed a note down. It was a little muted and woody and odd, but still she smiled in delight at the sound of it. 

“Oh, they found that downstairs, doing some clearing out of new floors,” Fitz explained. “Most of what was with it was falling apart, but there’s a bit of life in it left. Mack and I did what we could.” 

“Is there music?” Jemma was already checking the inside of the piano stool, and she held her breath in wonder for a moment as she drew out the old pages from their place of safekeeping. How long had it been since anyone had last laid eyes on these papers? Played these notes? She imagined a steamy saloon, around the era of Peggy Carter. The musician in her mind was much better than she, and yet, she found the inspiration irresistible. 

She plucked out a couple of notes, reacquainting herself with the keys. It was not long before a whisper of Fur Elise strung itself together, but just as quickly, it seemed to tumble apart. 

“You play?” Daisy mused, coming over with her jug of margarita. Pool game abandoned, she used the green velvet as a regular table – lack thereof being the downfall of this rec room – and poured them each a drink. They drank to each other, a wordless hurrah to their love and health and all things good, and took a swig before Jemma waved her hand and insisted -

“Oh, no, hardly. Of course I took lessons when I was a girl, but…” 

“Well, the only one I know is Chopsticks,” Fitz supplied, and crudely tapped out a few bars. 

“Can you play that?” Daisy wondered, and nodded to the pages Jemma had pulled out. _Claire de Lune._

“Oh, I’m – I mean, I don’t think so. I’m afraid I’m out of practice with the dexterity required. Perhaps I could do some chords and things…” 

She studied the music closer, trying to recall what all the symbols meant. Key signatures, sharps and flats; she had always been quite fascinated with the intricacies of music. It was a prime example of science creating beauty. 

And then, all of a sudden, the ageing, almost sepia pages before her were covered up by the appearance of a songbook from a slightly more recent time. Jemma raised her eyebrow at Daisy, who had put it there. 

“ABBA?” 

“Yes! ABBA!” Fitz cheered. Daisy beamed. 

“Alright then, ABBA it is,” Jemma conceded. She sat down in the stool and shuffled around a little, still tempted to be proper about it despite the fact that Fitz’d had half a pint of margarita already and there was nobody around but these two notoriously more embarrassing people to hear it. Mercifully, the chords were written at the top of the staff and Jemma still remembered most of them. It was going to be a mess, but as she was sure Daisy would remind them all with the energy of a 1940s after school special, it was _their_ mess. 

To be honest, it had been a long time since Jemma had been happier than she was that night; reliving her love of the piano with Fitz and Daisy singing along – and if she did say so herself, all three of them doing so with enthusiasm and a frankly not too shabby level of skill – through one of the greatest songbooks of their (well, perhaps their parents’) times. With the rec room to themselves, Fitz and Daisy put on quite a dramatic duet during the songs they knew best. Some of the time, Jemma could have sworn Fitz was impersonating Elvis, and once – to all of their great amusement, Daisy had lamentably strewn herself across the pool table like the most heartbroken of lounge singers. But always they came back to the spirit of the evening, loudly and rambunctiously singing together- 

“… _SO WHEN YOU’RE NEAR ME, DARLING CAN’T YOU HEAR ME, S-O-S…”_


	18. Angst/Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "FitzSkimmons after they get cryo Fitz back"  
> Angst/hurt/comfort, catharsis, deliberately vague references to 5x14. Rated T.

“How are you feeling?”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile at Fitz as she crept into his hospital room. He smiled back, wearily, and confessed with a haggard voice.

“Honestly? Like I haven’t slept in a year.”

“Well, to be fair to your body, you probably haven’t. Not really.”

Fitz nodded. His head was heavy. His eyes ached with the pain of staying open and yet - when Jemma ran her hand through his curls he felt such blissful relief. He hardly remembered what concrete felt like, at the touch of those beautiful fingers. When he breathed, and she was standing in his space, he could smell her, and she smelt fresh and floral and it was probably just some sort of soap or laundry detergent but it was heaven to Fitz’s senses, who’d had nothing but grit and crime and sweat and fear to clog them for so long.

Jemma took a seat in the chair that somebody had already pulled to the bedside, and looked over the things they’d brought Fitz so far. A small shaving kit. His good old trusty copy of _The Hobbit._ So much the same as so many times before.

Squeezing Fitz’s hand, Jemma took a deep breath.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, trying not to let her voice crack too much. “But I really want you to get some rest. You’ve missed a lot, but just - rest. Please? After the Framework and prison and… well, I suppose only you know what else…”

“Jemma,” Fitz crooned, her name as light as a dream on his breath, as he lifted one hand from under hers, and placed it on top, warm and steady. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I swear. This bed is comfortable, I’m knackered, and even if I wanted to jump back into things, I don’t think my knees would have held me up another second. Now that you’re here, there’s no reason to leave. Except…”

Fitz felt a pang of pain in his heart, and he saw the slightest grimace cross Jemma’s features. She knew, then, what he knew. She’d noticed Daisy ignoring him, hovering back, making excuses to stay away. She’d noticed, that Daisy couldn’t quite look him in the eye, and there was a pain in her, in that grimace, warning him that it was not a matter of grief. Something had happened in his absence. Something bad.

_Worse than the Framework?_ He could only wonder. Thinking that far back made his head hurt.

Jemma drew a weary breath, the kind that meant she was steeling herself up to something- that she didn’t want him to worry, though he’d started seeing through that long ago.

“It’s going to be okay, this time,” she insisted, adjusting his blankets and giving him a firm, determined smile as if she could will her outcome into existence. Indomitable, that one. But…

“What do you mean, ‘this time?’”

Enoch had warned him there’d be time travel involved in this somehow, but since getting him home nobody’d had the time - or apparently, the guts - to explain what role exactly it, or he, had had played. Well, except for the fact that he’d died the last time round, but he had a feeling that was not what Jemma meant. Not when she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.

_Worse than the Framework?_ Maybe it was, after all.

He wanted to ask Jemma about it. He _had_ to. The desire, the _need,_ rose up in his chest like the need for breath but before it could bubble out she must have seen it in him; she must have felt it coming. She couldn’t bear to let it out, so she cupped his hands in her own and fixed her big brown eyes on his and he wondered what could be so bad that Jemma - usually so matter-of-fact, usually a strong believer in ripping off the proverbial bandaid - could want to delay it. Perhaps she was trying to protect him, or perhaps herself, perhaps even both, but either way Fitz was struck by the desperation in her expression.

“I love you,” she said - but what she meant was: _Not now. Not just yet._

“I love you too,” Fitz replied, a strange tone to his voice as he watched her. She seemed so haunted. How could he ever know what that meant? What could he do?

Before the answer came to him - if indeed, it ever would - a knock on the wood beside his doorway seemed to start time going again. Both Fitz and Jemma looked toward the sound, and found a downcast Daisy standing uncomfortably there, waiting to be invited in. Waiting to get up the nerve to take another step.

Fitz cleared his throat. “Uh, Jemma. Could you get us some water, please?”

“Of course,” she agreed, glad for the excuse to leave. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen between these two and she almost didn’t want to know. She did not envy her lovers their fight, but she gave Fitz’s hand one last squeeze before she slipped away, and brushed Daisy’s arm on the way past. None of them knew how this was going to go. They could only hope for the best.

Daisy could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She could feel the vice around her lungs, waiting to snap shut. Jemma had left now, there was nothing between them but a few lousy feet, and Daisy could do nothing but stare at Fitz and wait. Wait, for the crippling fear to set in. For the flood of anger. For the complex, tainted grief, even, that had plagued her in these intervening months. It had been so long that everything that had happened was like a nightmare within a nightmare, and she had dreaded this moment for so long. The moment she looked into his eyes, felt his blade, heard herself screaming. She had dreaded finding him alive and never being able to look at him again. She had dreaded it so much in fact, that she had forgotten to consider… this.

Finding him _alive._

He was just sitting there, rosy cheeked and starry eyed. An unflattering hospital dinner had been cleared from a nearby plate and his fingers picked halfheartedly at the scratchy apricot blanket and his eyes - his _eyes_ \- looked over at her with such unspeakable love and gentleness and a terrible sort of grief.

“Daisy?” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, the vice in her chest was not fear, or anticipation, it was tears. It was grief, and relief, and it was the memory of his arms around her all those years ago. It was his lips on her skin. His hand taking hers. It was everything, every moment before the nightmare had begun. The nightmare this Fitz hadn’t had - the one she’d wanted nothing more than this Fitz, her Fitz, to pull her from. This was not the man who had hurt her, and if she had any say in it, he never would be. 

“Everything’s great, it’s fine,” she promised. Her feet crossed the floor with an uneasy gate, her knees very nearly buckling beneath her until she caught herself and lowered her into Jemma’s chair. Tears stuck in her throat and leaked out of her eyes and she couldn’t get over the way Fitz looked at her. Reached for her hand. Stroked her face, ever so gently - even more so than usual, like he was waiting for her to tell him to stop.

She cupped her hand over his instead, holding it against her skin.

“I missed you,” she said. “Things have been crazy without you.”

Just like Jemma, Fitz thought, Daisy was avoiding the question. The question that was on all of their tongues, but his most of all, and though it pained him terribly to ask, to poke the bear, he had to know.

“Did I hurt you?”

Daisy closed her eyes. Cherished the warmth of his hand against her skin, just for one more moment. Nightmare though it was, she still remembered what the other version of Fitz had done, and she knew he would hate himself for it, but she couldn’t lie. She nodded, and some of the pain flushed out of her, but she felt him recoil. Of course he would. And she could offer no recourse; all she had was her pain and her fury, and in her opinion whatever hate this Fitz had for his other self was well deserved, hard as it may be to face. She could only hope that it would teach them what it needed to teach them, take them down the right path. Every nightmare, after all, had its purpose.

“I’m so sorry, Daisy,” Fitz said. And it was infused with such passion and remorse, Daisy wept. It was all that she’d wanted to hear all these past few months, as the shards of her shattered faith in him had hardened into unforgiving edges. This Fitz didn’t even know what had been done, would be sick at the sight of it, and still all he wanted to do would take the burden off her shoulders, no matter what it was. He made no excuses, he needed no reason or loophole or prize. He’d hurt her, and that was enough.

Watching her every step of the way, for even the slightest flicker of discomfort, Fitz wrapped his arm around Daisy’s shoulder, pulling her in close. Embracing her, as best he could from this angle, with all the love and comfort his exhausted, confused, aching body could muster. Every emotion under the sun flooded through Daisy and out in her tears and Fitz sat with her every step of the way. Every moment. He did not know exactly what she’d been through, what he’d done. He did not know if she’d ever be up to telling him the details of it, but it didn’t matter: he of all people knew what it was like to have a horror, a trauma, that could not be explained; only exorcised. It hurt to know, but he’d got what he’d wanted: his question was answered. Truthfully it even felt good, it felt cleansing, to be there for her after what was clearly such a horrendous failure on his part. He’d sit here for the rest of his life if he had to, he knew, and heal every sorrow in her he could find.

It was not long after that, that Jemma returned. She entered in silence, feeling the heavy air of the room, and she slipped a tray with three cups of water onto Fitz’s bedside table. She had been planning to stay, but things were so private in here. She couldn’t tell if Daisy was crying or napping or somehow both, but she left her water, and took her leave.

All the same, her heart felt lighter when she paused outside the door. It was a heavy scene, but a healing one, if she’d read it at all correct. There was light at the end of their tunnel yet.

She slipped the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, and for the first time in what felt like a year, smiled as she walked away.


	19. Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for @florchis who prompted "I'm not ready to say goodbye."  
> Daisy mourns Coulson, Fitz and Simmons support her.
> 
> exists in a vaguely post S5 world but where Fitz's whole storyline was like... not that (no 5x14, no death)

The ceremony was small. Of course it was, for a man whom most of the world still believed dead. It was a peaceful burial, in respectably miserable weather, and it was a short ceremony followed by a toast and pouring out a shot of whiskey - one final take on the spy’s goodbye. After that, everyone dissipated. To work, to think, to feel alone. To all their various purposes. One by one, the world went on until there was only one left standing.

Daisy had been the one to pour the shot over Coulson’s grave, and in doing so, she’d been a second late to take her own. That second, that hesitation had stalled into an endless minute of silence. The smell of the whiskey burned her nose and throat, but she could not bring her hand to raise the glass to her lips. She could not open them to drink. She was frozen, timeless and forgotten, with only her breathing left to count toward nothing. The others had left her side, even Fitz and Simmons recognising her need to be alone, to absorb this, but now she wished they hadn’t gone. She felt stalled. Where was her peace?

Time began again when the soft crunch of grass, gravel, and fallen leaves underfoot alerted her to the return of Fitz and Simmons. They were quiet and gentle behind her; not wanting to intrude, not wanting to abandon.

For the first time all day, Daisy felt the air pour into her lungs -

And then pour out again, and hiccup and choke as the sob that had been sitting in her throat since the ceremony had started finally had some wind in its sails. But then it sputtered and died. She didn’t feel that sad. Not really. Not in the same way she once had, at least. This time she just felt… lost.

“We brought you something to eat,” Jemma offered softly. “You missed lunch, and most of breakfast. It’s getting late, Daisy. And you’re starting to get… attention. I’m sorry, but I think we should leave.”

“I can’t.”

And it’s not because her heart is breaking, it’s not - well, it is, but that’s not why she can’t leave. Her feet are rooted to the ground as if they grew there. It’s as though her body means nothing in space any more. All she has is the shot glasses in her hands: one empty for a life she couldn’t save. One full, for a life that didn’t feel quite as full anymore.

“We don’t have to go back to base,” Fitz offered. “We’ve got leave, got a hotel. We can go walk around a park. But Jemma’s right, we shouldn’t stay here. It’s risky enough to bury a dead man in a marked grave - to have _Quake_ standing by him -“

“I didn’t ask for that,” Daisy reminds him, and her throat is closing over. She remembers Coulson’s words of faith in her and it feels like she’d failed him.

“I know,” Fitz reminds her. “But you also know May’s orders. And she knows you. She wouldn’t ask you to leave if it wasn’t necessary. You know that.”

Of course she did, but still she begged;

“Just a little longer.”

She hadn’t known there was a place inside of her for this, for this feeling, for this loss. She thought she’d grown out of it long ago. Yet here she was.

Her hands trembled.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye,” Daisy whispered. “I don’t think I can…”

A voice whispered in her head _of course you can,_ and another, _you have to._ But Fitz and Simmons said nothing. Sometimes, they knew, it was better that way.

Fitz stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Daisy, and Simmons took the glasses from her hands and rested them on top of Coulson’s gravestone and joined the huddle. Truth be told it was not that cold - winter had not truly settled in yet - but their embrace soothed the aching loneliness in Daisy in a way that words never could. It grounded her until she no longer felt so lost. This was exactly where she belonged, even if that was part of the reason it hurt so much. She _cared._ And he had cared, and believed in her, and changed her life. She would carry him with her forever now, no matter what else happened, and she didn’t think she’d ever loved anyone else like that before. Permanently. Transcendantly.

Because of him, she loved so many like that now, she realised as she blinked the bittersweet tears from her eyes in the safety of Fitz and Simmons’ arms. Of course she did not love them in the same way as she had loved Coulson himself, but he had given her that place back in her heart. The place for love. That sense of home. It was aching now but it was there, and it would get better, and most importantly it would never leave her again. Not ever.

So when Fitz pulled away a little to check who was ringing, Daisy took another deep breath. It didn’t falter and stumble back out this time.

“That’s May,” he said, and looked to her for what to do. She looked to Simmons, but Simmons was looking at her too. Now was her chance, her crack in the ice. Her moment, to hold onto all the strength she had and nod and say:

“It’s alright. I’m ready.”

The hold broke apart, Fitz and Simmons giving Daisy her space for that one last momentous movement.

“Are you sure?” Jemma asked.

Daisy took one last look at the gravestone. She reached out and touched it, ran a finger along the edge. They’d chosen a Captain America quote for the inscription. He’d like that, she thought.

She picked up the remaining shot-glass, and drank. Then upturned her glass next to his, so he wouldn’t have to drink alone. He’d like that too, she thought. And so her heart felt less heavy this time when she exhaled again, and let it go, again, a little freer.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s go.”

Finally, she turned, and side by side, the three of them walked away together.


End file.
